


Restore My Soul

by long_LIV_prairies



Series: Westerkamp Verses [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Dubious Consent, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Jaws of Hakkon DLC, Modern Boy in Thedas, Modern Characters in Thedas, Modern Girl in Thedas, Smut, The Descent DLC, post-Inquisition
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-01-06 07:02:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 63,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12206235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/long_LIV_prairies/pseuds/long_LIV_prairies
Summary: Naomi and James Westerkamp found themselves enjoying a winter of peace after Corypheus was destroyed, settling more firmly into their lives in Thedas with the people they loved. However, an expedition to the Frostback Basin revealed a piece of their past they had long thought lost, and Thedas still reeled from the effects of the Breach.A sequel to Neither Angels, Nor Demons, Nor Powers.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not be in want.  
> He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters, he restores my soul. He guides me in paths of righteousness for his name's sake.  
> Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.  
> You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows.  
> Surely goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.
> 
> -Psalm 23

Snowflakes fell from the sky, driven by a sharp wind into skin, swept in swirling patterns across ice capped drifts without settling. That same wind cut through clothing and chilled bone, the last breaths of winter raging before the turn toward spring.

_Hakkon. The breaths of Hakkon._

A woman bundled in furs nodded. She needed to remember. It was better if she used those terms, even in her thoughts.

She watched the snow, tracking the movement of the tiny crystals over the ground. She took a deep breath and willed a wave of warmth to spread from her chest to her toes, reaching up to tuck a strand of blonde hair back into her hood. Winter was her least favorite season, but at least she had her fire to keep her warm. With another breath that fire spread to her companions, and more than one grateful face turned toward her in acknowledgement.

She followed the others into the settlement, stepping over shattered wooden beams and shards of ice, driven into the frozen earth by some tremendous force. The buildings were entirely destroyed, their contents scattered around the clearing, foodstuffs frozen solid, frost covering woven blankets, tanned leathers, and carved wooden furniture that the inhabitants had lovingly made.

“Jään jättiläiset,” the tall man leading them growled, kneeling over a bundle of cloth and leather. He reached out and pulled on the fabric, a deep scowl darkening his features.

_Ice giants._

The woman turned away before he could uncover the body. Those were everywhere as well, battered and bloodied, still and cold…

Her heart started to race, and images of other bodies flashed in front of her eyes. Except these were burnt, almost beyond recognition…

_Calm down. Don’t be afraid. You’re safe…_

The images cleared from her mind, along with the sight of the clearing around her. Her heart calmed, and the cold became distant, numb.

Feeling returned that night around the fire, a steaming bowl of stew cupped in her hands. She looked down at the contents. Jerked meat and a crumbled grain bar. She lifted the rim to her lips and took a sip. What it lacked in flavor it made up for in warmth, and she savored every bite.

The others were discussing the giants, huddled around the fire she had surely lit. Windburnt faces peered at each other from their fur-lined hoods, hollowed eyes reflecting the exhaustion of the day, of the last several days. The tall man from before led the others, sitting by her side, deciding they would track the giants to their lair before returning to the hold. Their presence would not be tolerated so close to their settlements, not when they killed families in their beds.

She closed her eyes and caressed the fire inside of her, feeling it ebb and flow through her veins. She had hoped they were finished fighting for a time. Their sweep through the basin had been tiring, but the demons were now gone, at least for the time being. They should have had time to rest, but the giants changed that, and her fire would be needed.

_It is expected. You must help. It keeps you safe._

Muffled words, addressed to her, fell into her ears. She blinked open her eyes as a hand slipped into hers. She had finished her soup and discarded the bowl. The tall man at her side squeezed her hand and reached to grip her chin, turning her head and tilting up her chin. He leaned down and pressed his lips briefly against hers.

“Abigail. Oletko väsynyt?” _Are you tired?_

She nodded. “Kyllä minä olen.” _Yes, I am._

The man nodded, his hazel eyes hooded with fatigue. They fought the same battles, but he lacked her power. “Come, let us go to bed. We have a big hunt tomorrow.”


	2. Chapter 1 - Wicked Grace

Nassella lifted the corners of her cards, just enough to see the numbers and suits. They were shit, not even enough for her to try and take a chance at bluffing. When the time came to place bets, she opted to fold.

She didn’t mind. She wasn’t playing to win, but to relax, and enjoy the laid-back night with her friends. Nearly everyone was there, circled around a large table on the second level of the tavern. Music and the rumbling of conversations drifted up from below, but for the moment, they had the upper floor to themselves.

Bull, Dorian, and Josephine placed their bets, and then it was Naomi’s turn. She studied her cards, a small frown pinching together her brows, and when she finally shoved her coins into the center to play, put her cards down with a small shake of her head. Nassella smiled. Naomi tried, but was still grasping the concept of Wicked Grace. Nassella was as well, but at least she felt confident in her ability to bluff. Naomi read like an open book. A book that smiled and laughed at the slightest provocation, more and more as the night grew later and she refilled her drink every time she emptied her glass.

Cullen chipped in his own coins with barely a flicker across his face, and the bidding moved around the table, with Varric and Cassandra folding, Blackwall tossing a coin toward the center of the table, and Cole shyly adding his own silver to the pile.

It came to James, and Nassella watched, amused, as he looked at his cards. His expression was neutral, but his nostrils flared. He had a bad hand, but Nassella was unsurprised when he tossed his money into the pot. Looking at him sent a flutter through Nassella’s heart, and a pleasant heat building between her legs. He was distracting, and she found herself watching him out of the corner of her eye as the others began their round of cards.

He was more handsome every time she looked at him. Clearer too, as if he became more real with every day that passed. She still spent every night in awe, her body tangled with his, overwhelmed with the feel of his skin sliding against hers. Late nights were spent in his embrace, and even later mornings. It was a rare thing for them to emerge from her quarters before the midday meal, and even when they went their separate ways, Nassella found excuses to run into him, reasons to pass the training grounds or ask him about the recruits, talk about this battle technique, or that way they had managed to take an entire fortress with only five people a year before…

She felt high when she was with him, bold and fearless. One glance from his blue-green eyes and she was ready, mind already spinning and planning, devising some way to drag him into a secluded corner for an intimate moment alone, her back pressed roughly against a wall, her legs wrapped around his waist, her name on his lips, and his cock in her cunt.

Even now, in the middle of their game, Nassella wanted him. It had been hours since their last romp, and she wanted nothing more than to take him from the tavern and this game and have him again…

James glanced down at her, his gaze piercing hers. Nassella’s breath caught, and she realized when he shifted his leg that she had placed her hand on his thigh, and was dragging it dangerously close to his groin.

She grinned, teasing him by moving a little closer. His nostrils flared again, and though he was trying to stay serious for the sake of the game, the corners of his lips twitched upward. He was sexy when he was so engrossed, so focused on the task at hand. So often that focus was directed toward his work fighting or training, but Nassella had found he concentrated just as dutifully in their bed.

Thinking of the set of his brows when he was moving inside of her sent another wave of pleasure rolling through Nassella’s body, twisting and twining with the alcohol already making her feel light. She knew Wicked Grace could last for hours, and wasn’t sure that she could wait that long. Now that she had him, she couldn’t get enough.

But when she tried to cup him through his pants, James let out a small cough. He shifted his legs again, uncomfortable, and leaned down to her ear. “Ness… I’m trying to play here,” he rumbled.

Nassella sighed, but withdrew her hand, though she kept it grasping at his knee. “Sorry ma’adahl,” she whispered in return, tilting her chin to place a small peck on his lips. “I’ll stop distracting you.” He smiled and turned back to his cards, but he had lost track of the game, and was soon forced to withdraw from the hand with a disappointed grunt.

It came down to Josephine, Cullen and Bull, several drinks, stories, and hours later. Cullen was struggling, his pile of coins a paltry display compared to the mountain Josephine had accumulated. But he was undeterred, and told her, his face red and sheened with sweat, to deal him in one last time.

“I’ve figured out your tells, Lady Ambassador,” he taunted, his normally stoic demeanor shattered as he grew more confident with the drink and comradery.

“Commander! Everyone knows a lady has no tells,” Josephine responded with a confident grin, her naivety from the beginning of the game obviously feigned, as she swept the others off the table one by one over the course of the night.

Naomi, nearly as flushed as her fiancé, giggled and leaned against Cullen’s shoulder. “You should quit while you’re ahead Cullen… or at least before you’ve lost.”

But Cullen stubbornly shook his head and pushed his remaining coins into the pot. “Then let’s see if your good fortune lasts one more hand. Deal me in.”

He refused to withdraw, even when Josephine had raised the stakes far beyond his means. “My armor,” he said confidently, as he had not bothered to remove it before the game started. “It’s worth more than everything on this table.”

Josephine smirked, as she had been doing the entire game. “I’m afraid it’s not worth that much, Commander.”

“Then my clothes as well.”

Josephine shook her head, but started to flip the next round of cards. “Very well, you have yourself a deal.”

She won everything.

“I’ll be having my winnings now,” Josephine joked as she swept the coins toward her end of the table. Chuckles popped up from around the table, and then, to everyone’s surprise, Cullen started to strip. Some bounds of honor, and the alcohol, compelled the blonde man to fulfill his debt, then and there, and everyone watched, wide-eyed and disbelieving, as the layers of metal and cloth fell from his body.

Stubbornly, Cullen stayed at the table, stark naked. Naomi sat at his side, turned the color of beets, and struggled to keep her eyes from falling to his lap. Varric was far less discrete, and made no attempt to hide as he surveyed the man next to him.

“Don’t say a word, dwarf,” Cullen seethed, eyes fixed straight ahead.

“Hey, I didn’t say anything,” Varric said, raising his hands up in defense. Then he sent a wink toward Naomi. “I see why you agreed to marry him, Freckles.”

Somehow, Naomi’s blush deepened.

“Never bet against an Antivan, Commander,” Josephine said, a satisfied smile still gracing her lips. Her cheeks were tinged pink, and Nassella didn’t think she had ever seen her ambassador so tipsy.

“I’m leaving,” Cassandra said, shaking her head a little too vigorously, her eyes glazed. “I don’t want to witness our commander’s walk of shame.”

“Well I do!” Dorian chirped, his lively eyes fixed on Cullen.

Nassella though Cullen’s head might explode, it was turned so red.

“It comes off!” Cole exclaimed, the single glass of ale he had consumed removing the control he had over his voice. “I didn’t know it came off!”

“I did,” Naomi mumbled, then burst out laughing, burying her face in her hands. Laughter rose around the table while Cullen glared at his love.

“Maker’s breath,” he muttered after a moment, looking to the ceiling as if for mercy.

Everyone started to stand, turning their backs on the naked man at the table and walking toward the stairs to the level below. Josephine gathered up as much of Cullen’s clothing as she could carry and followed. Nassella just laughed and stood, watching as Cullen glared at Naomi. He jutted his chin to the side, asking her to stand with the others.

“What?” she asked, still smiling. “I’ve seen it all before!” But when Cullen didn’t relent, she stood with a shake of her head, handing him her cloak as she turned around.

Nassella heard the patter of Cullen’s bare feet as he ran, and the slam of the door that led toward the walls. She shook her head, still not entirely believing how the game had ended. When she turned back around Cullen was gone, and Bull was lifting his fist toward Naomi in celebration.

“Nice!” he said. “I _definitely_ see why you want to marry him.”

Naomi giggled, still red, then let out a sigh. “I should go make sure he made it out of the cold alright.” She picked up her glass and downed her drink, then waved to those left behind. “See you tomorrow!

With the game finished, Nassella turned to James, who still had his back facing the table. “He’s gone,” Nassella told him, reaching to grasp his hand with hers.

James scowled. “If I can go the rest of my life without seeing my sister’s future husband naked, it’ll be too soon.”

Nassella laughed and started leading him toward the stairs. “You didn’ like that? Is a shame really, he’sss… very nice to look at…”

James growled, and tightened his hold on her hand as they descended to the level below. “God please, that’s enough!”

Nassella pointed him toward a table with a chuckle. “Go sit down an’ relax. I’ll get youanother drink before we go back to my room.”

James rolled his eyes but complied, and Nassella nearly skipped to the bar. It was growing late, and they were drunk, but she knew one more drink wouldn’t hurt. And she rather liked the sloppy, frantic way they made love after a night of drinking.

But when she turned back, she found that James was no longer alone.

A woman with dark skin and dark hair coiled into dreadlocks was sitting next to him, smiling seductively and leaning close. Her tunic was cut low, and she made no attempt to hide the cleavage that was nearly spilling out of her close-fitting clothing. Her face was covered in tattoos and piercings, and Nassella recalled she had seen the striking woman before in passing, but never with James…

There was something… familiar between the two of them, and Nassella was caught off guard when James laughed at something the other woman said. His expression was soft, tender, and when the woman reached out to place her hand on his shoulder, hot jealousy thrashed through Nassella’s body.

There was an intimacy behind the gesture, and James didn’t shrug it off. Nassella had only seen him act so familiar with two other women, Naomi and Mayra, and Nassella didn’t know what to make of this new woman. James clearly knew her, and Nassella burned thinking of just _how_ much he knew her…

She forced her feet forward, not wanting to leave him alone any longer with this new and beautiful stranger. She didn’t like the way he was still smiling at her, and needed to have his gaze turned back toward her. Only her.

James looked to Nassella as she set his drink on the table, and the slight look of discomfort that replaced his smile told her more than anything. _Something_ had happened between these two, and James didn’t want her to know.

“Who’s your friend?” Nassella asked. The tattooed woman removed her hand from James’s shoulder and Nassella placed her own on the opposite.

“Uh, this is Abner,” James mumbled, reaching for his drink. “We met before the Arbor Wilds battle.”

“I see,” Nassella said, trying not to glare. The battle of the Arbor Wilds hadn’t been that long ago. Memories of this woman were likely still fresh in James’s mind.

“I don’t need to ask who you are,” Abner said, and then a sly grin crossed her face. Her eyes shifted from the hand on James’s shoulder to his eyes. She winked. “So ya were sleepin’ with her.”

James flushed, and stared at his drink. “Not then,” he said, lifting the glass to take a long drink.

Nassella shifted uncomfortably, still hot, jealousy still coiling in her gut, knowing these two had a history. She shot small glares toward Abner, wishing she would just _leave._

But Abner laughed, loud and bright, and continued to stare at him with her dark eyes. “Come on now,” she said, teasing him with a grin. “Let me see yer scars.”

James snorted and took a long drink from the tankard Nassella had brought him. Nassella glowered.

“Why do you want that?” she asked Abner.

Abner glanced toward her, still grinning. “I heard he was nearly bit in half by a dragon. I wanted to see proof that it was true.”

James took another drink and shifted in his seat. He was uncomfortable, though he continued to smile, and Nassella answered for him.

“You don’ need proof. I saw it myself.”

Abner’s smile never faltered, but her eyes narrowed a sliver. She looked at James and leaned over to slap in on the shoulder. “Well, I can see when I’m not wanted,” she said, standing. Then she bent down, flashing her cleavage toward his face, and placed a kiss on his cheek. Nassella’s jaw clenched, and she felt the words _fuck off_ forming on her tongue. “It was nice to run into ya again James,” Abner continued as she pulled away. She winked again and turned her smirk to Nassella. “Good luck.”

James took another long drink as Abner walked away. Nassella glared into her own, biting back the angry words that were forming in her mind. She thought she had been spared the sight of James’s previous lovers, as Mayra had left Skyhold some months before. She knew it was ridiculous, but she was envious of those other women, and the time they had shared with him. Time she had denied herself.

Eventually, James cleared his throat, breaking the silence between them. “Sorry Ness. Abner just showed up. I didn’t realize she was here—“

“Is fine,” Nassella interrupted, attempting to push away her sour mood. She didn’t like feeling jealous, or the possessive impulse that had come over her. She took another drink.

“It was just one time,” James continued, still attempting to placate her. “Well… three times, but just one night… and the morning…”

Nassella’s stomach flipped. “Three..?” she asked, then shook her head. “No. Stop. I don’t wanna hear this.” She didn’t want to think of James with someone else, moving with someone else, fucking someone else…

“It was nothing, Ness,” James insisted quietly.

Nassella _knew_ that, but now she couldn’t get the thought of James sleeping with other women out of her mind. But what upset her most was knowing he had done it because she had been too stubborn to tell him how _she_ felt. It angered her, realizing he might be running into those women again, constantly reminding her of her own mistakes. “How many more?” she asked, finally looking at him. He was watching her intently, his bright gaze burning worriedly into hers. “Are you gonna keep runnin’into people you’ve fucked…?”

James frowned, and sat back, crossing his arm. “That’s not fair Ness,” he said. “I had to watch you with Solas all the time. You can’t get angry at me for trying to find some companionship for myself.”

Nassella flushed, now from embarrassment. “I know, I know,” she grumbled. “I just… didn’ realize therewoul’ be others you migh’ runinto.” And Abner had been so stunning, like Mayra. So much more beautiful than Nassella could ever be…

“Abner’s the only one,” James told her, reaching to rest his hand on her knee. “And you really don’t need to worry about her. She’s not looking for something with me, I promise.”

Nassella nodded. She knew she shouldn’t be feeling this jealous, but she was still upset. Knowing James had been with others just reminded her how close she had come to losing him, that she was lucky to be with him at all. “I’m sorry,” she told him, looking into his deep, beautiful eyes. He was so sincere, worried that she wouldn’t believe him. “I just… know you could’ve met someone else ‘cause I pushed you away…”

James shook his head and leaned closer, cupping her cheek in this large, roughly calloused hand. “Oh, Ness,” he murmured. “There was never anyone else. Not even close. I only ever wanted you.”

He moved the rest of the distance between them to kiss her. Nassella smiled, tasting the whiskey he’d been drinking on his breath. The slow, hard probe of his tongue into her mouth sent a shiver through her body, and the knot of anger and jealousy in her stomach started to twist in a new, more pleasant direction. He reached for her hips and encouraged her to slide from her chair and into his lap. She straddled him while their kiss deepened, and sighed into the embrace. Her body sparked with small burst of pleasure everywhere his hands touched her body, and her heart started to skip.

 _Creators,_ it didn’t take much for him to take her apart, to drive her high and leave her aching and wanting more of him. They’d had each other over and over and over again in the weeks since they finally came together, but it only made her want more. She could barely make it an hour without thoughts of him and what he could make her feel creeping into her mind, distracting her with memories of his length filling her, his mouth hot on her skin, his hands wandering over her body, loving and appreciating every slight curve…

James was the first to pull back from the kiss. He pressed his forehead against hers, and Nassella could feel his own response between her legs, his cock pressing up against her already wet and throbbing sex, teasing her through their clothing. “We should go to your room,” he murmured, one of his hands cupping her ass, squeezing gently.

Nassella nodded, her mind pleasantly hazy from the drink and his lips, anticipation building in her core at the thought. “Yes, please,” she whispered back, tilting her chin to nip at his lips. “My morning is free, so we cantake allnight.” She kissed her way to his ear with sloppy lips and breathed into the rounded shell. She felt him shiver. “If we fucklessssthan four times, I’ll think yalike that other woman more.”

James chuckled and the sound sent a wave of pleasure rolling through her body. “We can’t have that.”

 

* * *

 

James woke in the Fade several hours later. It took him a moment to orient himself, as he never seemed to arrive in the same place, though he slept in the same bed every night. Once he recognized a particularly gnarled tower he started to move, winding his way through twisting corridors until he found the courtyard where he met Naomi every night.

She was already there, sitting on the ground and leaning against a wall. She had one hand extended in front of her, and a small stone was swirling around the air over her head, tumbling and turning with every flick of her fingers.

James resisted the urge to scowl. It was why he was here, to learn how to manipulate the Fade as she could. He had been trying for a month to do so, ever since he had found himself continuing to dream in the Fade even after his injuries had healed. He knew how dangerous it was to dream like this, and he had insisted Naomi show him how to defend himself. She had readily agreed.

But it was proving to be more difficult than he had anticipated, and he was frustrated. Naomi made it look so easy, and it just… wasn’t.

She saw him approaching and let the stone fall to the ground. She rose to her feet with a smile and brushed nonexistent dust from the front of her pants. “I was beginning to think you were never going to show up,” she said, her grin taking on a suggestive caste.

James snorted and turned toward the pillar he had been trying to topple for weeks. “I’m sure you weren’t here that much earlier.” They had joked about having sex four times, but after the second round he and Nassella were both too exhausted and intoxicated to continue. And he doubted Naomi and Cullen had fallen directly asleep after leaving the tavern.

“Hey, it’s fine,” Naomi replied, raising her hands up defensively. “And it’s not like you have anywhere to be early in the morning. Stay up as late as you want.”

James knew she was just trying to joke, but he didn’t like the implication that he had nothing to do. “I train recruits,” he grumbled, widening his stance and concentrating on the tall, black, twisted pillar. Tonight he would make it budge.

“In the afternoon.”

James frowned and looked the pillar up and down. He didn’t need to be reminded that after Corypheus was defeated he had little to do, that since Nassella had stayed in Skyhold so had he, and been given no other task than to make sure the newest recruits flooding the Inquisition had a target to try and hit.

He decided not to respond, instead focusing on the task in front of him. It would require all of his concentration to make the pillar fall, and letting himself get upset with Naomi would help nothing.

 _Fall_ , he thought, pushing his desire to see the pillar on the ground toward the unmoving stone in front of him. _Fall down dammit…_

Nothing happened and he raised one of his hands up, curling his fingers as if he could claw down the structure with his mind. A few pebbles skittered to the ground, but otherwise the pillar stood solid.

He tried for as long as he could, but eventually James dropped his arms in defeat. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, heart racing and stomach sinking with disappointment.

One thing. He wanted to feel like one thing was moving forward for him.

“What the fuck,” he grumbled, turning angrily away from the pillar. He crossed his arms and opened his eyes to glare at his sister. “Why can’t I do this?”

“I told you you were starting too big,” Naomi replied. “You haven’t gotten a feel for how you can control things here.”

“You said it just takes will,” James argued. “And I _want_ that pillar to fall.”

Naomi shook her head. “It’s not just about wanting it to happen,” she said. “You need to _visualize_ it. And it’s hard to do that with something so large.”

“You don’t have a problem with it,” he continued to gripe.

“I didn’t start out like that,” she said. “I started small, just creating weapons and moving small things. The big stuff came later.” She bent down and picked her rock back up, then tossed it toward James. “Besides, I’ve always been more artistic than you.”

James caught the rock and frowned. “And what does that have to do with anything?”

“ _Visualizing,_ remember? You’re just not used to thinking like this. But you’ll get there.” She nodded toward the rock. “Just focus on moving that around. You need to figure out how it feels to manipulate the Fade, and it will be easier with something small.”

James was still frowning, but he sat down with a sigh, holding the chunk of stone in the palm of his hand. “Fine.” He just wanted to know that he could do _something._

But he was too frustrated to even focus on that small task. He had managed to kill a blighted dragon, but now he couldn’t even bring himself to knock something over. He would have better luck smashing it with his bare hands at this rate, and after an even shorter attempt, he sighed and tossed the rock aside.

“Giving up?” Naomi asked.

“I can’t concentrate,” he grumbled, leaning his head back against the rock behind him. “I’ll try again later.”

“You’ll get it James,” Naomi said quietly, her earlier joking tone replaced with earnestness. “It would probably help if I knew how to teach you better. If Solas was here—”

“I wouldn’t want to learn from him,” James interrupted. “He’s a condescending ass.”

Naomi sighed. “Regardless, he knows more than me about this stuff. He might know what’s tripping you up.”

“Well it doesn’t matter now. He’s gone.”

_And good riddance._

_You shouldn’t dwell on the elf. It only upsets you._

James looked around the courtyard and stared unhappily as Serenity wound its way toward them, antlers sharp and twisted, teeth still long and carnivorous, and its body only somewhat resembling that of a deer. Two faint lights curled around its feet, wandering off on their own when the spirit stopped several meters away.

“Tell your spirit to stay out of my head,” James gripped, turning his body so he was facing Serenity. He summoned his concentration for a moment and summoned a sword, the one thing he had managed in the last month. It was a little bent out of shape, and it wasn’t sharp, but it was better than nothing.

“Oh calm down, she’s not going to hurt you,” Naomi scolded.

“Excuse me for being cautious,” James responded without taking his hand off the sword.

Serenity watched him with dark, empty eyes, before flicking its ears and turning away to graze. It nibbled at some patches of grass, made verdant by Naomi, entirely unperturbed by James. The lights returned and danced through its feet, then wandered toward Naomi and floated up to twirl several feet above her head.

“What are those?” James asked, watching their acrobatics.

Naomi looked up and grinned. “Wisps. Haven’t you seen them the last few days?”

James shook his head. “No. Though I’ve been distracted with other things.” He tracked their movements as they wandered further away, never straying more than a few feet from one another. “Are they dangerous?”

Naomi snorted. “They’re the safest things you could find here. They get twisted if they are pulled through the Veil, but they have absolutely no desire to enter the physical world. They are little more than light and energy here.”

“Well good,” James said. He glanced back at Serenity. One spirit was enough to worry about.

“Try to be less nervous when you’re here,” Naomi told him. “You’ll just be more likely to attract demons if you’re scared or upset.”

“I’m not scared.”

“Well you’re not content either. It’s not helping anything.”

“This place is dangerous Naomi,” James argued. “I can be upset to be here.”

But Naomi shook her head. “Things will be easier when you stop fighting it. Accept that this is how you are going to dream, and don’t be angry about it. Find something good, and it will be easier.”

James couldn’t begin to identify what he might find enjoyable about the Fade, so he reached down and picked up another rock. No matter what Naomi said, he was in danger, and he needed every weapon possible at his disposal.

\----- 

James woke with Nassella’s hot breath in his ear, and her hand wandering over his chest. He groaned softly and arched his back into her touch. Her lips curved against him and she nipped at his earlobe. “Good morning ma vhenan,” she breathed hoarsely, her fingers travelling to his stomach.

“Morning,” James said groggily, still unused to the adjustment of waking up from a night of consciously dreaming in the Fade. But Nassella’s fingers and lips quickly drove the sleep away, and his heart started to race. He blinked open his eyes to find her smiling at him, her eyes tired and a little bloodshot. “You look awful,” he teased, grinning as he snaked his arm around her waist under their blankets.

She squinted her eyes and smacked his navel. “We can’t all magically heal a hangover,” she said.

James pulled her up and over his body, until she was straddling him. He guided her down and kissed her, pulling softly on her lips while heat built low in his stomach. He withdrew after a moment and whispered, “Maybe you shouldn’t drink so much then.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” she said with a rough giggle. She shifted herself lower and grazed her ass against his cock, already growing hard and interested. She hummed and kissed him again, but pulled back too soon with a sigh. “I better call for some tea and something to eat,” she said. “Otherwise I’m afraid I’ll be less than fun.”

“I don’t think that’s possible,” James replied, but released her so she could slide off of him.

She laughed and kissed him again. Her lips trailed up to his ears and he shivered. “Don’t move. You still owe me two orgasms by my count. Minimum.”

James groaned, now fully hard, as she slipped from the bed, and watched her ass and the muscles moving in her legs and back as she padded across the room to grab a robe. She covered herself and disappeared down the stairs toward the door to her chambers. He heard the soft sounds of conversation, and then she was back, crawling to his side and pressing her naked body against his.

“You’re not making this easy,” he told her, resisting the urge to roll over and cover her body with his.

She giggled and sucked gently on his neck. “Neither do you.”

She didn’t leave the bed again until the breakfast she had ordered arrived, and by the time they had eaten, she’d recovered enough from her hangover to throw herself in earnest at James.

She left the bed for the final time as the hour approached midday, and they were both sated and content and growing hungry again. Nassella reluctantly left his side and disappeared into the washroom. James heard the sloshing of water as she cleaned the evidence of their love-making from her body. He watched her move between her closets and chests, donning the finely embroidered tunics and trousers she wore when she wanted to look more like the Inquisitor. She sat in front of a mirror and placed a few braids in her hair, then smeared dark kohl around her eyes. Dressed and ready for her day, she returned to the bed and perched herself on top of the blankets, reaching for James’s hand. He hadn’t moved, and was still stark naked and sweaty and smelling of sex. Nassella smiled at him, her dark green eyes taking in his disheveled hair.

“Your hair’s getting long,” she commented.

James shrugged. “I don’t mind.”

“Neither do I.”

She leaned down and kissed him, letting one of her hands wander over his chest, gently tracing over his scars. “I need to go,” she murmured eventually, pulling back and taking a deep breath. “This meeting is apparently important.”

James let out a long sigh, and Nassella frowned. “What’s wrong?”

He swallowed. He hadn’t meant to worry her. “It’s nothing.”

She raised her eyebrows. “I know that’s not true.”

James squeezed her hand. “I just wish I could do more sometimes. More than training recruits.”

“I thought you enjoyed it?”

James shrugged. He did enjoy hitting things and showing off his skill. But he was finding constant days with recruits tiresome. “To a point.”

She was worried. “I’m sorry James. I know things have been slow…”

“No, don’t be sorry,” he assured her. “It’s nothing really. Don’t worry about me.”

She studied him a moment longer, then nodded. “At least try to have some fun today.”

“I’ll will.”

He forced himself to get up when Nassella had disappeared. He washed himself and donned his clothes, far plainer than those Nassella wore. He left her rooms and sought food, then made his way to the training circles in the far corner of Skyhold, joining Blackwall with the new round of volunteers inspired to try their hand at saving the world.

Blackwall made no comment on his tardiness, and directed him toward a group of particularly green and wide-eyed young men and women. James grabbed a practice sword and sized them up as he approached.

“You there,” he said, pointing his weapon at the tallest and most promising of the group. “What’s your name?”

“Devon, ser.”

“Show me what you’ve got.”

Devon’s gaze was filled with a confidence that James doubted reflected any real skill. “Aren’t you going to wear padding?” Devon asked, setting himself into a stance that James thought comically flawed.

James grinned. “I doubt you’ll get a strike in.” To the man’s credit, he looked a little nervous at that. “And I’ll be fine even if you do,” James added. “So don’t hold back.”

James believed Devon did give everything he had, but it wasn’t nearly enough. He was clumsy and predictable, and the only blow he managed to land on James was because his mind started to wander. When Devon fell on his back for the third time James decided he’d had enough, and turned to address the others and point out where Devon had gone wrong.

He found them staring in awe, and several whispering between themselves. James waited for them to settle down, but their wonder didn’t die down. “Anything you’d care to share?” he asked one woman toward the back, who hadn’t stopped talking.

She stood straighter. “You’re him, aren’t you? The one who killed the dragon?”

James’s face heated, and he wished once again he had asked Varric to keep his damn mouth shut.

“Didn’t you almost die?” another asked. “They say you were nearly bit in half!”

_Fucking Varric._

“I wouldn’t be here if that had happened,” James grumbled. “But yes… I killed the dragon.” A few gasps rose from the assembled group and excited murmurs. “With help,” James added quickly. He couldn’t take full credit for killing the creature. Not by a long-shot.

They were back to whispering and James took a deep breath. He had not anticipated how the tale of that battle would spread, and while he had enjoyed the recognition at first, but it was already growing annoying.

“You,” he said, pointing at the particularly talkative girl. She looked up from her conversation with wide blue eyes. “Your turn.”

This was what he did now. He trained. And he trained others. And while he did that Nassella decided what she would do next to change the world. And he waited for her to decide when she needed him.

 

* * *

 

Nassella stared at the map in front of her, trying to concentrate as Josephine prattled on about the situation in Orlais. Leliana’s spies had picked up whispers. Gaspard was meeting secretly with his Chevaliers, and slighting Briala at every opportunity. Even Celene was hesitant to defend her former lover. It had only been months, and the situation was already growing tenuous.

They were offering suggestions, ways that they might attempt to stabilize the country once more. Nassella tried to follow them, but the names and places they mentioned meant nothing to her. She had scraped by with politics in her years as Inquisitor, leaned heavily on Josephine and even Leliana for insight and direction. And so little time had been spent in Skyhold, that the tasks of dealing with nobles and the intricacies of their interactions had not required her input.

But now Corypheus was dead and the land more peaceful than it had been in years. The Inquisition had garnered influence across Thedas, and the Inquisitor was required to represent its interests.

And she didn’t know how to do it.

She didn’t even know what the Inquisition’s interests should be anymore.

She’d rather be back in her bed with James. She still ached from his attention and love, and though she was sated, found imagining their next encounter more enjoyable than anything Josephine was trying to tell her. She didn’t want to deal with Orlais. She had brokered peace at the Winter Palace by a large amount of sheer luck. She was not prepared to negotiate any sort of lasting arrangement. She had joined the Inquisition to close rifts and kill demons, protecting her clan and the innocent. She wasn’t qualified for these politics.

“Inquisitor,” Josephine said, somewhat sharply. Nassella blinked and looked up at her advisors. They were all looking at her, and she realized they had likely been trying to get her attention for some time.

“Yes?”

“I was suggesting that we arrange a meeting with Gaspard, Briala, and Celene,” Josephine offered, hiding her exasperation well after her sternness. “A gentle reminder of what we know and what allows them to rule will ensure their cooperation.”

Nassella grimaced, making no effort to hide her distaste from the others. “Must we do this in person?” she asked. Whined.

“Perhaps a military demonstration,” Cullen interjected. “A show of force could be just as effective as any meeting.”

Tempting as it was, Nassella felt in her gut that such a demonstration could be taken in far too many ways, that Orlais could feel threatened into retaliating. No, whatever they did, it should be through diplomacy.

Thought she considered she was just as likely to say something wrong and fuck it up anyway.

“How dire is the situation?” she asked.

“There are only whispers of unease,” Leliana said. “It is still early, and we expected that the three would have difficulties working together. But these developments do not bode well for Briala.”

Nassella took a deep breath. Of course the elf was in the most danger. “How soon must we intervene?”

“Peace is still fragile,” Josephine said. “The Breach has been closed for only a month. People are still rebuilding after the chaos. They cannot afford more upheaval in their government.”

“We need not rush,” Leliana added. “The situation may yet resolve itself. I would not bet against Briala just yet. But we must be aware of any new developments, and ready to act.”

But something Josephine had said stood out in Nassella’s mind. _People are rebuilding…_ The chaos had ended, but what had that left them? Shattered lives and pieces to pick up.

“Who is aiding the rebuilding in Orlais?” Nassella asked, looking up from the map.

“There is little aid,” Josephine said. “The civil war put a strain on the royal coffers. Relief efforts have been concentrated around the capital.”

Nassella nodded. “We should send supplies and food,” she said, meeting Josephine’s gaze. Then she shifted to Cullen. “Send them with our soldiers. The Orlesians cannot refuse our generosity, and our soldiers will not be seen as a threat if they are offering aid.”

Cullen tipped his chin in acknowledgment, and Josephine hummed softly in approval. “Yes. We will remind Celene, Briala, and Gaspard of our presence without creating alarm, and garner further support from among their people.”

Nassella grinned. “Exactly.”

She knew she had a lot left to learn… but perhaps she _could_ manage this.


	3. Chapter 2 - Research Pains

Naomi opened the door to the incubation chamber, a wave of hot, damp air falling across her face as she pulled the trays from their racks, her hands encased in thick leather gloves. She placed the trays on a table and turned off the enchantments keeping the chamber warm and humid. After letting the glass petri dishes cool for a moment, she gingerly lifted the lids, her right hand clutching a quill, ready to take notes.

_Control 1  - 10 – full growth_  
_Control 2 - 10 – full growth_  
_Control 3 - 9 – full growth_  
_Control 4 - 10 – full growth_  
_Control 5 - 10 – full growth_  
_Control 6 - 10 – full growth_  
_Control 7 - 10 – full growth_  
_Control 8 - 9 – full growth_  
_Control 9 - 10 – full growth_  
_Control 10 - 10 – full growth_  
_Deathroot 1 - 10 – full growth_  
_Deathroot 2 - 10 – full growth_  
_Deathroot 3 - 10 – full growth_  
_Deathroot 4 - 9 – full growth_  
_Deathroot 5 - 9 – full growth_  
_Deathroot 6 - 10 – full growth_  
_Deathroot 7 - 9 – full growth_  
_Deathroot 8 - 10 – full growth_  
_Deathroot 9 - 10 – full growth_  
_Deathroot 10 - 10 – full growth_

Naomi sighed as she put down her quill, sitting back in her chair and rolling her shoulders. The results were disappointing, another failure in a string of failures. There was no evidence that deathroot suppressed the growth of lyrium. She hadn’t been able to calculate any statistics, but the lyrium appeared to grow just as well on a plate treated with an extract of the woody roots as those treated with pure water. She still had to run another twenty plates, and then another twenty after that, to really see if there was no evidence that this particular herb could not stop the growth of lyrium, but she was not optimistic.

She had been trying for weeks to find something that would kill lyrium. Deep mushroom was the closest she had come, but it was hardly effective. Against spores perhaps, but full grown lyrium? It hardly made a dent in the spindly tendrils that spread across the gelatin.

It was frustrating, after her wave of discovery, to be stalled like this. She knew lyrium was alive, and could get it to grow sufficiently well. But beyond that she could not move forward. She still had no idea what she could possibly use to kill it, to remove it from Cullen’s body once and for all.

Because it was still living inside of him. Once the excitement of the Breach’s closing had settled, she had returned to her research, and taken a drop of Cullen’s blood. Sure enough, though he had not taken lyrium in nearly two years, there were living spores running through his veins. Naomi could not look into his head, but she knew the lyrium was there, still riddling his brain.

He had been fighting the infection since his first draught of lyrium. Naomi suspected something about taking fresh lyrium every day suppressed the body’s immune response to the infection, but she was still trying to decide how to test that theory. She couldn’t exactly conduct experiments on Templars. Not at such an early stage when she knew so little. She would not risk doing more harm.

She had to try to find a solution though, and she wished she would receive a response to the inquiry she had sent weeks before. Cullen’s body seemed to be fighting on its own, but she didn’t know if he could fully reject the infection without assistance. From what she knew, very few, if any, Templars survived without lyrium. At least not without going mad.

It made her sick, thinking about the Chantry and how they used lyrium to control their charges, given to them so often as children. And Cullen was a victim of that system. No one should be forced into a life of servitude, no matter how noble they initially saw their cause, because they feared the consequences of leaving.

And the mages… it was even more horrible what they endured. Imprisoned and guarded by an organization afraid of their power, and looked over by Templars who had been indoctrinated since childhood and given a horrible, addictive substance. The entire system seemed set-up to accumulate corruption and fail.

Naomi hoped the rumors that Leliana would be elected the next Divine were true. From what Naomi had gathered, there was a chance that the Chantry moving forward would be different under her direction, and the Circles as well. Of course, that would leave hundreds of the remaining Templars adrift, desperate for some kind of relief.

For the time being, Naomi took comfort knowing that at least Cullen wasn’t getting worse. But she still feared that things would change, was still haunted by the image of Alec, lying cold and dead on the surgeon’s table, killed by an illness brought on by withdrawal. Thoughts of Cullen in that position creeped into her mind far too often, though she did her best to stamp them out the moment they did.

She discarded the used gelatin and lyrium in the incinerator Dagna had crafted, and cleaned and sterilized her dishes. Then she set to work making twenty new gelatin plates, carefully mixing the recipe of blood, nutrients, and sugars she had found most conducive for growing lyrium. She spread a diluted lyium solution over the surface of the gel once it had set, then carefully placed a disk of paper soaked in an extract of deathroot in the center of half of the plates, and disks soaked in water on the other half. With any luck, she would find a space void of lyrium around the deathroot disks the next day. But based on the results she had just recorded, she did not expect to find that happening.

She was just finished arranging her new plates in the incubator when Emory entered the undercroft. Naomi watched him approach, noting the color of his complexion, the set of his brow and shoulders, and the dark circles beneath his eyes. He didn’t look any worse than the day before, but no better either. She smiled when he reached her work area, hoping the gesture would provide some sort of encouragement.

The Templar was struggling, held in the tight grip of withdrawal. Naomi hadn’t seen Cullen in those first days, weeks, and months, and after seeing not just Alec, but now Emory coming off of lyrium, she was glad she hadn’t. It was hard enough now, years later, to see Cullen in pain.

Emory wasn’t sleeping, despite the herbs and potions the healers had given him to try and force him into the Fade. And Naomi wasn’t sure how much her own mixtures of herbs helped him, as they didn’t seem to calm his symptoms enough for him to rest. She had found Templar’s commonly denied their own pain, something that must have been pounded into them from a young age. To be a Templar was to endure some degree of suffering, and to complain was to admit weakness, expose cracks that could be exploited. She had learned that she could only trust their answers to her questions to a point, and relied on her own observations to fill in the gaps.

“How are you feeling today?” Naomi asked as she took the empty bottles Emory offered her.

He shrugged, the motion stiff, pained. “A little better than yesterday.”

Naomi wasn’t convinced, not with the way sweat sheened his skin, his usually dark tan color paled toward simply tan. “Are you sure?” she asked him gently. “I need you to be truthful. It’s the only way I can help you.”

Emory looked at her, his green eyes hollow and glassy. She feared he was feverish. “I was vomiting all night,” he admitted. “I wasn’t able to keep any of the potions down.”

Naomi nodded, concern twisting her gut. “I’ll get you some more… and I’ll add something stronger for the nausea.”

“Thank you,” Emory said, and settled into a chair with a sigh as he waited for Naomi to finish. “I didn’t think it would be this bad,” he admitted after a moment, his voice rough from lack of sleep. “You hear the stories, but I always thought they were exaggerated.”

“You’re fighting an infection that you’ve had for years,” Naomi said as she handed him another dose of the herbs that would ease his fever and hopefully calm his stomach. “It won’t be easy.” Emory took the cup and down the contents in one motion, wincing slightly at the taste. “Perhaps you should ask for the day off,” she suggested when he handed it back. “You should try to get some rest. It will help.”

But Emory stubbornly shook his head, another common Templar trait. “I may be losing my Templar abilities, but I can still serve. I will not let that go too.” Naomi handed him a bundle of fresh bottles filled with healing potions. “And I am afraid if I don’t keep busy, I will give up,” he added softly as he stood, his eyes on the package Naomi had given him. “When I threw up the last dose last night, I… I thought about lyrium. I knew where I could find some, and I…” He shook his head, and lifted the package up in gratitude. “Thank you for this. I will try to keep them down this time.”

“Of course,” Naomi said, watching with furrowed brows as he left the undercroft. He had been so adamant about leaving lyrium behind at first, so sure. But the horror of Alec’s death was waning, and Naomi could see that he was doubting himself, doubting what he was trying to do.

She was finishing up her notes about Emory’s visit when she received another visitor, his hands gently finding her shoulders, startling her slightly from her thoughts.

She had been too engrossed in her writing to notice when Cullen entered the caverns, and still distracted enough to miss his approaching footsteps. But the sight of his golden hair and the shape of his nose from the corner of her eye was immediately familiar, and Naomi calmed, putting down her quill to turn in her chair and reach for his hand. “You scared me,” she said, though she smiled to let him know he was already forgiven.

“I’m sorry,” Cullen said, kneading her body gently. He glanced toward the water frozen solid as it fell across the opening to the cave. “I can’t even blame the waterfall today.”

Naomi sighed. “I was just thinking and didn’t hear you come in.” She glanced at her notes and leaned over to finish her most recent thought. “Emory came by today, and I wanted to record how it went.”

“How is he?” Cullen asked, politely curious. Naomi could still detect the hint of disapproval in his voice, the wariness he felt knowing she was working with the Templar who had been Alec’s closest friend. But Emory had never directly hurt her, and Naomi found her compassion for his current struggle left no room for lingering anger over anything he might have done in the past. And something about him was… different than Alec. She felt no malice when she was with him.

“He’s holding on,” Naomi said, skimming over her notes from his visits over the past weeks. “But so many of his symptoms match what happened to Alec before he died,” she continued. “It worries me… I’m afraid he could take a turn for the worse at any time.”

“May I see?” Cullen asked.

Naomi hesitated before handing him the notes. “It’s in English,” she apologized.

“That’s alright,” Cullen replied, his eyes already reading her words. “I remember most of what you’ve taught me.”

Naomi smiled. It was those lessons that had brought them together, given them the opportunity to talk and get to know each other, become comfortable with each other, until she was ready to want and hope for more…

And now they were engaged. Naomi ran her fingers over the gems on the ring Cullen had given her that night over a month ago, smiling at the memory of his proposal. They had been caught up in a constant haze of happiness and pleasure since then, finally able to just _be_ together day after day, with no threat of the ending world hanging over their heads. They were nearly as lazy as James and Nassella, Naomi mused, eyes wandering over the lines of Cullen’s face as he read. Her brother and her friend had been nearly blind to anything beyond their own bedroom for weeks, but Naomi doubted herself and Cullen had been any better, spending nearly as much time locked away in their own chambers. It made her body warm, thinking of those nights spent tangled together, anticipation building in her core for when they would retire again that night.

“These are like my own symptoms,” Cullen finally said, handing her notes back, real concern now marking his face. “When I first stopped taking lyrium, the vomiting and lack of sleep were nearly enough to drive me back into its embrace.”

“That’s what Emory was saying,” Naomi said, snapping her mind from Cullen’s body pressing into hers and back to the topic at hand. “He said he considered taking lyrium again last night.”

Cullen rubbed at the back of his neck, a distant look falling into his golden eyes. Naomi watched his face, as it flickered with hints of pain and fear, memories dredged up that she could only begin to understand. “It will not be easy,” he finally said, focusing his gaze once more on her, on the present. “But it can be done.”

Naomi nodded, and stood to wrap her arms around his neck. “I know,” she said, a small shiver travelling up her spine when Cullen’s arms held her tightly back.

Their embrace dragged on, and Cullen’s proximity quickly had Naomi’s mind circling back to thoughts of their bed. “I’m finished here for the day,” she sighed into his neck, sucking gently on his skin to indicate just where she hoped they might find themselves next.

Cullen chuckled and Naomi pressed herself closer. “Is that so?”

Naomi laughed and kissed her way up to his mouth, answering his question with a long kiss.

Cullen probed his tongue between her lips when the kiss continued, and pulled her against him with his hands now gripping her hips. Naomi pushed herself into him, moaning softly at the burst of pleasure that flowed from her core, and the slight pain of her breasts pressed against his breastplate.

“Cullen,” she sighed when he pulled his mouth away from hers. “You know that thing we did last night…?”

“Yes,” he said gruffly, his hands inching slightly further back, cupping her backside more than her hips. Naomi smirked, her sex pulsing once more, glad she had finally gotten the courage the night before to suggest something different, something she had been thinking about for some time…

“Want to do it again?” she asked.

The sound Cullen made was strangled and desperate, not unlike the groan that had slipped past his lips when Naomi turned to her hands and knees the night before, presenting her backside to his eyes. Naomi shivered, already anticipating the feel of him entering her from behind, stretching and filling her sex with his hands gripping her hips and his lips on the back of her neck, more soft groans falling into her ears.

“Maker yes.”

 

\-----

 

Two days later Naomi checked the gelatin plates. The results were much the same, and she, with frustration, emptied the disappointing contents into the incinerator.

“Not what you wanted to see?”

Naomi glanced at her brother, leaning back in her chair, twirling a dagger between his fingers. He’d taken to carrying the weapon around everywhere he went, saying he wanted to improve his knife-handling skills. Naomi thought he just liked throwing the thing at wooden doors whenever he got the chance.

“No,” she responded a little bitterly, scraping out a particularly stubborn chunk of gelatin. She dropped the empty glass dish into a tub of warm water and closed the lid on the incinerator, activating its runes. “Nothing kills this stuff.” _Except extreme heat… which I can’t exactly send through Cullen’s body._

“Have you tried alcohol?”

Naomi rolled up her sleeves and resisted the urge to roll her eyes. It wasn’t like she discussed her research with James very often. “Yeah, I tried alcohol,” she mumbled. She grabbed a handful of soap and tossed it in the water, agitating the surface until bubbles frothed up to the rim of the tub. She grabbed a brush and a glass dish, scrubbing vigorously. “Every kind.”

“What about elfroot?”

Naomi took a deep breath and dropped the dish into clean water to rinse, then picked up another dirty one. She was grateful for the warm water in the drafty undercroft, though it was freezing when she removed her hands for any length of time. “I’ve tried everything I can get my hands on, James,” she said. Her entire collection of herbs and every variety of spirit Syhold contained… nothing worked.

James fell silent, and Naomi worked on her washing in silence. But after the third time hearing James’s knife _thud_ into the wood of her desk, she threw everything down and wiped her hands, striding over to James and shoving the brush into his hand. “If you’re just going to sit around, you might as well do some cleaning. I have another round of plates to make.”

“I’m not…”

She grabbed his hand and hauled him to his feet. Or rather, James allowed himself to be pulled up. “Just clean,” she ordered, shoving him toward the tub of water. James grumbled something vaguely like a curse under his breath, but he walked the rest of the way to the table containing the dishes soaking in water. “Make sure to scrub well,” Naomi told him, moving to another of her tables, pulling out bowls and vials of ingredients. She was running low on the powder to make the gelatin base, and made a mental note to acquire more.

“I know how to wash dishes,” James responded, water splashing as he worked.

Naomi just made her measurements. It was starting to feel futile, this quest of hers. Cullen was still hurting, and Emory had taken a slight turn for the worse in the last day. She felt herself wishing, more than once, that she could chuck something glass and breakable against the cavern wall. But that would achieve nothing more than a mess, and she didn’t feel like trying to explain such an outburst to James.

They worked in silence, and while Naomi was waiting for her gelatin mixtures to cool, she put the newly cleaned dishes into another heated chamber to be sterilized.

She had just returned to checking on the gelatin when a messenger arrived, placing a scroll of thick parchment in her hands, sealed with a large glob of dark gray wax, her name scrawled on the side. Naomi immediately recognized the sigil pressed into the seal, and tore into the letter.

“What is that?” James asked, and she felt him moving to stand behind her.

“From the Miner’s Caste,” she breathed, smoothing out the parchment.

Her heart dropped after reading the first four words.

_Mistress Westerkamp,_

_We will not grant your request to see our lyirum mines. Our mines are the basis of our economy, not a curiosity to be toured by humans when the whim seizes them. The location of our mines and the methods we use to extract lyrium are our own, and we cannot risk that information becoming known to surfacers. No surfacer has ever seen our mines before, and we will not change that now._

 

Following the rejection was a list of names, the heads of several houses of the Miners Caste. Naomi felt tears building behind her eyes, and she desperately wanted to crumple up the letter, or rip it in half and throw in the incinerator with the discarded lyrium and gelatin. But that would accomplish as much as breaking glassware. She had been hoping for weeks that the letter she had sent requesting she be allowed to explore a lyrium mine would be accepted. But those hopes had been destroyed with just a few sentences.

“What’s it say?” James asked.

Naomi tossed the letter onto her desk angrily. “They won’t let me see a mine,” she told him, her voice already catching slightly in her throat.

“A lyrium mine?”

“Yes a lyrium mine!” Naomi yelled, turning away from her desk and the letter. Her eyes fell on the half-finished dishes, waiting for another round of deathroot treatment that wouldn’t work….

She blinked to keep the tears from building in her eyes, but several slipped down her cheeks. “I don’t know what to do!” she exclaimed to her brother, pacing away from her research area entirely. “Nothing has worked! And the best place for me to _maybe_ find something that could kill lyrium is where it grows! And now I won’t even be able to see that!”

She was going to end up sobbing if she didn’t control herself, so she stopped walking and took a few deep breaths through her mouth. This wouldn’t be the end of the world, and she couldn’t treat it like it was. It was a setback, but she could figure something out…

Except she wasn’t sure she could. There might be only one thing that could really help her remove lyrium from Templar’s bodies, and it might be down in those mines. Mines she could not see without the dwarves’ help.

“Hey, it’s ok,” James was saying, and she felt his hands grip her shoulders. “You can figure something else out.”

Naomi shook her head. “I don’t know that I can,” she whispered. She knew failure was part of research and science, but this felt more personal than any other project she had worked on. This could be life or death for countless people, and one of those she loved most…

“Ok, ok, you want to see lyrium where it grows?” James asked, still gripping her shoulders. “Maybe it grows somewhere else? Red lyrium was popping up everywhere. Normal lyrium is probably so many other places than the dwarves’ mines…”

Naomi blinked, and she felt the tears recede. _Yes… yes he’s right…_

She threw her arms around James’s body. “That’s the best suggestion you’ve had all day!” she said as she gave him a quick squeeze.

“Well thanks,” he mumbled. Naomi laughed and turned away, half-skipping as she hurried from the undercroft. The Miner’s Caste might want to protect their mines from surfacers, but Naomi knew surface dwarves, and that they still knew much about what happened underground.

She finally found Varric in the tavern, as he had abandoned his normal post by a roaring fire in the main hall there for a table in a corner of the crowded tavern. He was not alone, and Naomi dropped into a seat next to Krem, waiting as patiently as she could for Varric to finish scribbling on his parchment.

“You seem eager to be here,” Krem observed with a grin. Naomi smiled back.

“I am!” Then she frowned. “I’m not interrupting something am I? I can come back—“

“No, please, by all means interrupt,” Krem said with a small laugh. He tilted his chin toward Varric. “I could use a break from that one’s questions.”

But before Naomi could ask what the two were talking about, Varric put down his quill and smiled. “Hey, Freckles, what can I do for you?”

Naomi turned her full attention to Varric and leaned forward in her seat. “You know when I asked for your advice writing to the Miner’s Caste a few weeks ago?”

A small grimace crossed his face, and Varric nodded. “Yeah. How’d that go?”

“They refused to let me see a mine,” Naomi told him.

“Ah, I’m sorry. Though I figured that would happen.”

Naomi suppressed a sigh, already determined to move past the rejection and pursue this next lead. “I was thinking – well, James mentioned it first – that lyrium must grow elsewhere. And if there was somewhere where lyrium wasn’t controlled by the Miner’s Caste…”

Varric leaned back in his chair and raised an eyebrow. “And you think I know where this lyrium might be? You know not all dwarves are fond of being underground, right? The Stone isn’t much more than something to walk on for me.”

“Well I didn’t expect _you_ would know,” Naomi said quickly, not wanting to offend him. “But I thought you might know someone who does?”

Varric grinned. “Hey, don’t sweat it Freckles, I know what you mean.” He looked past her face, retreating into thought, and Naomi watched him hopefully. After a moment, he met her gaze once more. “You really want to do this?”

Naomi nodded. “Yes.”

“Then I might know someone who could help…”

Naomi waited expectantly, but Varric didn’t continue. Naomi glanced at Krem, but he just shrugged. “Well?” she prompted, turning back to Varric.

He clasped his hands on top of the table and looked pointedly into Naomi’s eyes. “Contacting this person will be dangerous,” he said seriously. “It comes with a very real chance I could end up assassinated.”

Naomi’s eyes widened. “I don’t want you to be in danger because of this Varric. I can find some other way—“

“I’ll help you Freckles, don’t worry,” Varric interrupted. “I just want something from you in exchange.”

Naomi bit at her lip and frowned. The entire idea was sounding more dangerous than she had originally thought. But it was the first indication she had not reached a dead end. “What do you want?”

“Your story,” Varric responded, picking up his quill.

Naomi’s frown deepened. “My… story?”

“You know, ‘girl falls from another world, falls in love, saves the world’, that sort of thing.”

“I didn’t save the world,” Naomi argued, feeling her face heating a little.

“Well you certainly helped,” Varric said.

Naomi started to fidget with the sleeves of her tunic. “We’ve been trying to keep our origins quiet,” she argued.

“I wouldn’t use your name,” Varric assured her. “And I might not even use it at all. I just like collecting stories… inspiration for future projects. That’s what Krem’s here for,” he added, pointing the feather he was clutching toward the other man at the table.

Naomi looked toward Krem. “Really?”

The warrior shrugged and leaned back in his chair, throwing an arm over the back. “He bought me a couple pints and asked a few questions. Though now I’m thinking I should have asked for more.”

“I’ll buy you pints for the rest of the week, how’s that?” Varric offered.

Krem lifted his glass and drained its contents, then stood. “You might end up regretting that, dwarf.”

Varric chuckled as Krem walked toward the bar. “So what do you say?” he asked Naomi.

She took a moment to answer, unsure about the possibility of her life being written down and shared, dramatized to sell books and to entertain. There were so many painful parts of her past, parts Varric didn’t know…

But if Varric could really get her somewhere to see lyrium, she wasn’t sure how she could deny him.

“You already know what happened to me,” she said slowly. She didn’t need to offer more than that. “I won’t stop you from using that… granted that the details can’t lead back to me.”

But Varric shook his head. “I need to know more. About your world, and your life before you ended up here… what you and Curly get up to…”

Naomi shook her head, her face starting to burn. “I’m not telling you about _that,_ ” she told him. “My world… sure, but not about Cullen.”

“It will make it much more realistic!” Varric insisted. “Romances based at least a little on fact always sell better.”

Naomi narrowed her eyes, bracing against his prodding. “ _No_ ,” she repeated. “I’ll only tell you the basics.”

Varric stared back for a moment, but Naomi refused to look away. If he wanted to profit from her life, he was going to have to accept that some things would remain hers alone.

“Fine, fine,” Varric finally said, grinning slightly and leaning back in his chair. “But you’ll just have to be happy with anything I come up with on my own to fill in the gaps.”

Which reminded her… “ _And_ I need to talk to Cullen first, let him know what you’re doing.”

Varric sighed and waved his quill in front of his face. “Yeah, yeah.”

Naomi nodded, hoping she wouldn’t regret agreeing to let Varric have her story. “Then we have a deal.” She started to stand, but turned back as she remembered a final complication. She placed her hands on the table’s surface and leaned down, towering over Varric. “One more thing. You’ll have to ask James to use anything about him.”

But Varric just chuckled, and he dipped his quill into his jar of ink, preparing to write. “Way ahead of you Freckles. He’s already agreed.”

 

* * *

 

Cullen rubbed his temples and stared at his desk, seeing the tattered papers and maps scattered across its surface, but not comprehending their meaning. He was supposed to be reading the reports sent back from Orlais and connecting them to marks on the map, preparing a report to give the Inquisitor about the status of her aid mission.

But the pounding behind his eyes would not allow him to concentrate for long, and he’d been drifting in and out of awareness all afternoon. He’d considered going to Naomi for a blend of herbs or a healing potion, or even just a break to sit and watch her work, or to talk. It upset her, though, every time he went to her with his aches. He hated to see the pain that flicked through her eyes, and the way it drove the smile from her face.

He took a deep breath and picked up the closest correspondence, making a mark on the map detailing the southern reaches of Orlais where a famine was threatening. This migraine was manageable, so he decided he would not bother Naomi with it.

Some time later he was pulled from another moment of clouded consciousness by wind whipping through his office, ruffling the papers on his desk and sending a shiver down his spine. He blinked, and watched as Emory entered the room and quickly turned to slam the door shut behind him, closing the winter winds out.

Cullen’s gut twisted a little, but he wiped away the scowl that instinctually fell over his face. Luckily, Emory seemed distracted himself, his eyes trained on the ground as he approached, his own face twisted in pain. Cullen knew the look.

“What do you need Emory?”

Emory cleared his throat and approached the desk, forcing himself into a semblance of professional attention. Another act Cullen knew well.

“I’ve set up the new recruits with quarters and gear. Everyone has been assigned to units and given patrol schedules. They are currently training in the yard with Rainier and Westerkamp.”

“Good, good,” Cullen replied absentmindedly, picking up another letter.

“Um, there’s one more thing, commander.”

Cullen put down the paper with a sigh. “Yes?”

“Charter discovered while interviewing one of the recruits that she’s only thirteen.”

Cullen took a deep breath, _feeling_ his headache grow more intense. Leliana’s agents were thorough in their vetting, and Charter was the best. It was no wonder the girl had been unable to keep her secret. “Where is she now?”

“We found her a private room for now. Charter thinks she’s a runaway.”

What was this child running from, Cullen wondered. What had she hoped to find?

“I’m sure Leliana is already looking into this, but make sure someone is sent to learn about this girl’s home life. If she’s running away from something, we can’t very well send her back.”

“What shall we do with her in the meantime?”

“Let her train with the troops,” Cullen said, collecting his papers and maps, realizing as a bell started to toll that he was late for the meeting.

“Commander?”

Cullen glanced up. “I also chose to pick up a sword when I was thirteen. It won’t hurt to let her learn, no matter what happens to her.”

Emory saluted, then turned on his heels to exit the room. But he moved too quickly, and before he could take a step he was leaning to the side, reaching out to clutch the desk for support.

“Are you alright?” Cullen asked, moving to place a hand on the man’s arm by instinct, holding him steady.

“Yes, yes I’m fine,” Emory grumbled, standing up straight and meeting Cullen’s gaze with dark, pained eyes.

“You’ll need to move more slowly in these early days,” Cullen offered, supporting Emory as he stood straight again. He was finding it hard to dislike the man when he was in this state. Every movement Emory made felt like looking into a mirror, dredging up memories of long, painful days struggling to hide his own discomfort.

Emory grunted and pulled his arm away. Cullen released him and took a step back. “I’ll keep that in mind,” Emory responded. He followed Cullen to the door, and nodded when Cullen held it open for him to pass. Wind howled through the opening, ruffling their hair and biting at their cheeks. Cullen clutched his papers and squinted into the cold, eyeing the welcoming sight of the door across the causeway, leading him into the warm interior of the main keep.

“It gets better, doesn’t it?” Emory asked, his quiet question almost lost over the sound of the wind.

Cullen looked away from the door and into Emory’s eyes. They were green, he realized, a vibrant color often obscured by deep set brows and dark looks.

And his look was dark now, weighed down by the burden of lyrium withdrawal.

Cullen wasn’t entirely sure how to answer. He was recovering, but not everyone did.

Emory knew that. They had all heard the stories, seen what happened to those few Templars that had been forced out of the Order. Those fears kept them chained more effectively than any vows.

But Emory didn’t need to hear the entire truth. Just Cullen’s.

“Yes,” Cullen responded, pulling the door shut. “It does.”

 

\----- 

 

Naomi was outside the war room when Cullen arrived, pacing from one side of the hallway to the other. A piece of paper was clutched in her hand, and he could see her muttering something under her breath, mouthing some sort of prepared speech. Varric was also there, leaning against one of the walls, watching Naomi.

“Naomi, what are you doing here?” Cullen asked as he approached. She stopped her wandering and looked up at him with wide eyes, smiling in the next heartbeat.

“Waiting for you.”

Cullen shook his head, reaching out to brush his fingers along her elbow as he passed. “I can’t talk now, I have a meeting.”

But Naomi followed him toward the door. “I’m here to talk to everyone actually. You just needed to be here to get started.”

Cullen paused before opening the door, glancing toward Varric as he pushed away from the wall and gave him a wink. “Talk to us about what?” She hadn’t mentioned coming to a meeting that morning when they went their separate ways.

Naomi gestured him into the room, though she glanced down at her piece of paper one last time, and then at Varric. “I’ll tell you in a moment. Nassella said we could talk to you all first.”

Cullen bit back the questions that sprang to the front of his mind, and held the door open for Naomi instead. He followed her to the center of the room, where Leliana, Josephine, and Nassella had already gathered. Nassella smiled at Naomi as they approached. Varric settled himself against the wall just on the inside of the door.

“Before we get started, Naomi has something to ask us,” Nassella announced, crossing her arms and looking to Naomi expectantly. Cullen took his customary position and watched Naomi as she consulted her paper one last time. She took a few deep breaths, then looked up and gave everyone a nervous smile.

“So as you know, I’ve been researching lyrium. And, um, with Dagna’s help I’ve been able to show that it’s a living organism, and that it is still alive inside Templars...” She glanced back at her notes. “Oh! And I want to make sure I thank you all for helping to make that happen. Without the resources you’ve given me… the microscope and access to lyrium and, just, just everything…”

She paused and took a deep breath. She was more nervous than Cullen had seen her in a while.

“Of course, Naomi,” Josephine said, her voice reassuring and a soft smile turning up her lips. “The research is worthwhile, especially if it helps Cullen.”

Cullen cleared his throat. “I am fine, Josephine,” he said, and stood a little straighter, growing even more aware of his face and the way his brow furrowed.

Naomi looked at him with slightly narrowed eyes, but nodded, fiddling with her paper. “Well, I’d like to help more, and not just Cullen. Emory, as you know, has also given up lyrium, but I’m afraid it has been difficult for him. I had hoped to find something that I could potentially use to kill the lyrium inside of them, but I’ve had no luck with the materials I’ve tested so far.” Her eyes, still fixed on him, grew worried, then she looked to Leliana. “And if it becomes more common for Templars to give up lyrium, then I would like there to be a safer way for them to do so.”

“As do we,” Leliana said. “You came to us not that long ago with a plan, no? Something involving the dwarves?” It had been weeks, but Cullen remembered now Naomi asking Josephine and Leliana’s advice, and permission, when writing a letter to the Mining Caste in Orzammar.

The paper in Naomi’s hand crinkled as she turned it through her fingers. “I believe I could find something that would kill lyrium if I go somewhere it grows wild. In its natural habitat are other things that have interacted with it for thousands of years, and may have adapted some sort of defense against it… I’m not entirely sure, but I need to see if I can find _something._ The problem is the Miner’s Caste denied my request to explore a mine.”

Josephine sighed. “I knew it would be difficult to gain their permission, but I had been hopeful our purchasing so much of their lyrium would work in our favor.”

“Well, I talked to Varric after that, and he reached out to a contact, and he got a response today,” Naomi said, her voice rising slightly and growing steadier as she became more excited. “There is a place I could see wild lyrium where the Miner’s Caste has no influence! And I was hoping that… that the Inquisition could help get me there?”

Leliana glanced at Nassella, her lips quirked up in a small smile. “Is it even worth arguing against this proposal?”

Nassella shifted on her feet, the tips of her ears turning a little pink. “This is entirely above board, Leliana. Naomi has a legitimate proposal that will not only help our commander, but other Templars as well.”

“Yes, but we risk angering the Miner’s Caste if we do. And not just the caste. Their influence is strong in Orzammar. The Council or even the king may feel slighted,” Josephine added.

Cullen closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He was less than concerned about what the dwarves would think of this expedition. If Naomi wanted to see lyrium, he was ready to support her. His only wish was that she wouldn’t need to go underground to find it…

“That shouldn’t matter!” Naomi exclaimed suddenly. She had discarded her notes in favor of appealing to them from her heart. “They can’t own _all_ of the lyrium in the world. It hurts people! Templars at the very least should know what it is they are taking to join the Order, and have a safe way to leave. And this is the best lead I have right now. I need to see this lyrium!”

She took a deep breath when she was done, and her eyes grew wider with worry. “I’m sorry about that,” she quickly added, eyes bouncing between Josephine and Leliana. “I know it’s more complicated than that, I just… don’t know what else to do.”

“It’s alright Naomi,” Josephine assured her. “It is frustrating sometimes to maneuver these politics.”

“Where is this contact leading you?” Leliana asked, turning her cool gaze to Varric. The dwarf pushed off the wall and approached the map. He pointed to a spot in the southern reaches of Thedas, near the Frostback Basin.

“My contact says there is access to an untapped lyrium vein near here. It’s far from Orzammar, with no chance of running into the Miner’s Caste. I don’t even think they know it exists.”

Cullen tensed when he saw where Varric pointed. It was one thing to send Naomi north toward Orzammar and where the majority of the lyrium mines were. Darkspawn were more controlled where the dwarves had a stronger presence.

“How will you access this vein?” Cullen asked. “How far from the surface is it?”

“My contact was vague about its exact location, but it’s not far. We will need to go through a small stretch of deep roads though.”

Cullen’s jaw clenched as he studied the map. This expedition was possible, certainly, but it would be dangerous. The Frostback Basin was notoriously unexplored, not to mention the dangers the deep roads held. And it was still winter, and moving further south would not help in alleviating the cold and snows choking mountain passes.

“Perhaps you should wait until the spring,” he suggested.

But Varric shook his head. “My contact only has a short window when we can meet.”

“And I’d really like to explore as soon as possible,” Naomi added. “I’m sure we can manage the snows and cold, especially if we have a mage with us.”

“Who is this contact of yours?” Leliana asked, crossing her arms and fixing Varric with an icy stare.

But Varric just shrugged. “Can’t tell you that Nightingale. But the information is legit.”

Leliana opened her mouth to object, but Nassella interrupted. “I trust Varric, Leliana. If he says we can trust this lead, then I believe him.”

Leliana’s glare turned toward Nassella, but she nodded. Cullen suspected the spymaster would be sending out her agents immediately after the meeting, to learn the nature of this contact of Varric’s. Nassella looked to the others. “I believe this is a worthwhile venture. If no one else has any objections, I think we should give Naomi the resources she needs to make this happen.”

Cullen had objections, but none that he could voice. He would not hesitate to send anyone else on such a mission, and Naomi would not want him to hold her back just so he could keep her safe.

So he said nothing and Nassella looked to Naomi with a smile. “You can leave as soon as possible. We’ll talk about a few logistics here, but you and Varric can start planning.”

Naomi’s smile was radiant. “Thank you,” she gushed, looking around the table, the paper now clutched in her hands crinkled and forgotten. “Thank you so much. I will do my best to make sure you don’t regret this.”

When Varric and Naomi had left, Cullen looked back to the map. “If they are going to be entering the deep roads, we should take at least a unit of soldiers along. Perhaps even two.”

“We should not draw attention,” Leliana objected. “We must keep word of this expedition reaching Orzammar if we can. The less we have to deal with the ire of the dwarves, the better.”

“I agree,” Nassella said, her brows furrowed as she studied the map. “We have Orlais to deal with. We have yet to see how Celene and the others will respond to our aid, but if it goes poorly, I’d rather not have Orzammar angry with us at the same time.”

“A small group then,” Josephine offered. “You were successful with small forces while clearing Thedas of demons. This should be no different.”

“I don’t think I’ll be able to go this time, unfortunately,” Nassella said, her shoulders slumping slightly. “I should really be here, in case something happens in Orlais… But I’m sure some of the others would gladly volunteer to go along. I think people are growing restless.”

“I can select some of my best officers,” Cullen offered. “We should be able to keep Naomi, and everyone else, safe.” He would lead his entire army to the basin if he could, but realistically Cullen knew that the others were right, and that a small, elite team was their best option.

“We?” Leliana asked.

Cullen narrowed his eyes. “Of course I’ll be going.”

But Leliana shook her head. “You cannot leave while Orlais is threatening to break.”

Cullen’s gut squeezed tight. “I will not send Naomi alone.”

“She will not be alone, _commander_.”

Cullen winced inwardly at the inflection on his title, a reminder that his primary professional duties were not to personally protect his fiancé at every turn.

“Besides,” Leliana added, her voice growing softer. “I do not believe that our Inquisitor should lose two of her advisors so close together.”

Cullen’s mind tried to follow Leliana’s change in demeanor through the haze of his headache, but Josephine reached there first. “They have set a date?”

Leliana nodded. “In one month’s time.”

Realization clicked into place. Leliana had been elected Divine by the clerics in Val Royeaux just a week before, and now the consequences of that had reached their war room. Leliana could no longer serve as the Inquisition’s spymaster. And now she would be leaving.

“So soon?” Nassella asked, grief falling across her features.

“The Chantry has been without a Divine for over two years now,” Leliana said. “It is time.”

Nassella nodded and took a deep breath. “Well, we’ll all miss you.”

“As will I,” Leliana said, inclining her head. “You are of course free to seek other replacements, but I would recommend Charter as my successor. She knows the workings of the Inquisition and my agents better than anyone other than myself.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Nassella said.

“Regardless,” Cullen interjected. “I’m sure Nassella can manage without me for a few weeks, even with you gone as well.”

“I too believe it would be better if you remained,” Josephine said. “I know you wish to stay with Naomi, but we may be approaching a delicate time with Orlais. And this expedition will draw less attention if the Inquisition’s commander is not among their numbers.”

“It is a risk I am willing to take,” Cullen retorted. “I have done little this winter, and I do not anticipate that changing in the near future. I will not send Naomi away on such a mission unprotected.”

“Please, Cullen,” Nassella said, her large green eyes apologetically looking into his. “I know you want to protect her but… we need you here. _I_ need you here. Working with Orlais makes me… nervous.”

Duty to the Inquisition and his Inquisitor told Cullen to stay, but duty to his heart and the woman who held it pushed him to leave.

And he knew which Naomi would want him to choose.

“I’ll send James,” Nassella added, seeking some way to appease him. “He will keep her just as safe was you would. And he’s been wanting to get out anyway.”

It was the final piece that pushed Cullen toward staying. He could not argue that he would defend Naomi more adamantly than James. He couldn’t even argue that he would be better at it.

“Fine,” he conceded, rubbing at his temples again. His migraine had started to throb. “I will remain.”


	4. Chapter 3 - Alive

James huddled further under his cloak, shrugging his shoulders so that the warm wool would cover his ears more fully. He wanted to move his feet closer to the fire, but they were nearly buried in the coals already, the heat seeping through his boots to warm his freezing toes. The clearing they had camped in blocked most of the wind curling through the mountains and trees around them, but every now and then a gust broke through and ruffled the hair around his face, biting at his exposed nose.

_Wintersend my ass._

They had celebrated the changing season the day before, passing a canteen of spiced whiskey and a tin of sweets around the fire, all while huddled together against the cold, fresh snow falling from the sky.

Part of him cursed Naomi for insisting on this expedition when winter still held the mountains in their grip. It wasn’t just cold. They had been trudging through snow, some drifts still over ten feet deep, for days. It made what could have been a week’s journey stretch into two, and they still had two days left before they reached their rendezvous with Varric’s contact.

But a larger part of him was glad to be out of Skyhold and on the road once more. The journey had been largely uneventful, but he didn’t care. He was moving, navigating, and protecting his sister. Nassella had even convinced Cullen to give James command of the soldiers he had sent. So far it had meant little, but he appreciated the gesture, and the accompanying title, nonetheless.

 _Lieutenant Westerkamp…_ James liked the way it sounded. He’d been a little unsure at first, but Nassella insisted he deserved it, after everything he had done.

 _You’ll have more responsibility,_ Nassella had said, while lying next to him and clutching him tight. _I might have to send you away more._

It had almost been enough to make James refuse the promotion. It was hard to imagine leaving Nassella behind when she was pressed naked against him, one of her bare legs thrown over his body. But it was what he wanted, what he had _told_ her he wanted.

Still, he missed Nassella desperately. When he left Skyhold again, he had assumed it would be with her, fighting by her side. He was glad he had gone, but she was never far from his mind. His bed felt especially cold: he missed the sound of her breath as he was falling asleep, and the teasing trails her fingers left over his skin when she didn’t want him to.

_Just a few more weeks. Then I’ll be back with her…_

Laughter pierced the clearing and James glared at the figures playing in the snow several yards away. Naomi was less affected by the cold, or at least better at hiding her discomfort, and had discovered that the fresh snow from the previous night was wet enough to pack. She had started to roll a ball shortly after they stopped to camp, and had spent the time as they waited for their evening meal to thaw building a snowman. Thedas apparently had no such concept, and Krem, Bull, and Dorian were especially interested. They had constructed a figure nearly as tall as Bull, and were busy attempting to make horns that wouldn’t fall under their own weight.

“You could join them you know,” Varric suggested from where he was sitting at James’s side. “Instead of scowling all night.”

James’s expression only soured more. “I’ll just get my clothes soaking wet.”

“I’m sure Dorian would happily dry them for you.”

James snorted. “Yeah, I’m sure he would.” But he made no move to join the others in their games. He watched as a small snowball flew, from Naomi’s hands onto Bull’s, surprisingly covered, chest. Naomi ran and James shook his head as the others gave chase. She would _definitely_ be wet and freezing before the night was done.

Varric sighed. “What’s got your panties in a bunch?”

James looked away from the burgeoning snowball fight and into Varric’s warm gaze. “I just miss Ness,” he admitted. There was no use trying to hide it.

“Of course you do. Is that it?”

“Isn’t that enough?”

Varric chuckled and leaned over to stir the pot. “Yeah, I suppose it is.” James thought he had escaped a lecture, but then Varric continued when he settled back on his seat. “But she’ll be there when we get back, and there’s no use making yourself suffer in the meantime.”

James knew he was right, but found it difficult to pull himself from his sulking. Still, he watched as Naomi was nearly overwhelmed by snowballs as Bull and Dorian teamed up on her. He saw Krem sneaking around behind, a giant sphere of packed snow clutched in his hands, and considered that he should try to save his sister from further destruction.

Then Naomi’s laughter turned into a cry of pain, and James heard Bull grunt in that way he only did when injured. Something whizzed past James’s head with a swift bust of air, and Dalish collapsed across the fire.

“Arrows!” James yelled, throwing himself in front of Varric and drawing his sword. He tracked the next volley back to their source as the Chargers and Inquisition soldiers took cover behind shields both magical and mundane. He heard Varric crank Bianca back and pointed toward the trees. “There Varric, on that rise and in the trees.”

James hopped over the fire as Varric started to return bolts and knelt over Dalish’s form. But the arrow was already removed from her body and the wound closed. James looked into the elf’s eyes and raised an eyebrow.

“It’s just a bruise,” she said, shoving him away and toward the battle. “Go get the bastards.”

He moved without further question, leaving Dalish and her secrets to rise and fight back. He saw Naomi running toward her bags and her own bow, and noted that Bull was still standing, Dorian at his side already throwing lightning into the trees.

“On the ground!” he shouted toward his shoulders, catching sight of movement at the base of the trees. He chanced a glance behind him and scowled. “Fisher! Dyer! Defend the south! They’re coming from both sides!”

James took his own position at the northern end of the camp. He could see figures moving through the murkiness below the trees, and directed the two soldiers still at his side to spread out.

Their attackers barreled from the trees, screaming in a language James could not understand, moving through the snow more swiftly than he thought possible, their bodies covered in furs and leathers. And they were tall, on average at a height with James. He found himself nearly driven back when the first man barreled into him, his strength and ferocity unexpected after his month of complacency.

But he quickly found his footing, and felled the man after finding a gap in his leathers. Another emerged to take the first attacker’s place, and James dropped her even more quickly. Their attacker’s advantage had come from surprise, and once they were aware of the threat, James and his companions removed it.

Cold forgotten, James moved through the camp, checking for survivors among the dead, and looking for any of his own that had fallen. Thankfully, only the fur-clad warriors remained on the ground, staining the fresh snow with dark splashes of blood, though a number of the Inquisition’s forces had spilled their own in the fray. Bull crouched over Krem, inspecting an arrow stuck into the man’s arm.

“Ready?” Bull was asking when James reached them, his large hand wrapped around the arrow’s shaft. Krem set his jaw and nodded. Bull adjusted his legs for a better stance and yanked, tearing the arrow’s head from Krem’s flesh with a messy squelch. Krem hissed, his body jerking from the pain. But he made no other sound, and held out the injured arm so that Dorian could heal it with a spark of magic.

“Who were these people?” Naomi asked, joining James at his side and looking around at the bodies, confusion and pain etched on her face. “Why did they attack us?” James couldn’t say. He had never seen people dressed like these, and he still didn’t know enough about Thedas to know the sorts of people that would live in this area of the continent.

“Avvar,” Varric offered, joining the circle, Bianca resting on his shoulder. “We ran into some of them in the Fallow Mire. They weren’t exactly friendly then either.”

Naomi sighed. “But why did they attack _now_? We aren’t doing anything.”

“We’re here,” Bull said, rising to his feet and inspecting the tip of the arrow he was holding. “Sometimes that’s enough.”

Naomi didn’t look convinced, and she crossed her arms, eyeing the woods around them warily. “I didn’t think we would cause problems by coming here…”

“It’s not your fault, Freckles,” Varric assured her, patting her arm. “You said it yourself, they attacked us.”

“We’ll increase the watch,” James said, wishing they had thought to put more on patrol from the start. The journey had been so quiet, that he thought two would be enough. “Hopefully we won’t run into any more. Otherwise, we’ll be out of here in a few days, and it won’t matter.”

Naomi sniffed, and her eyes wandered toward her snowman. It had been knocked down during the skirmish, and the body of an Avvar archer was slumped over the crumbling mounds of snow. James watched a tear slip down her cheek. She wiped it away with her gloved hand and turned away. “We should bury them,” she mumbled.

“The ground’s frozen,” James said.

Her eyes flashed toward his, the grief quickly replaced with anger. “Well, we can’t just leave them scattered around.”

“We’ll put them at the edge of the clearing,” Bull suggested, already moving to collect the bodies. “Hopefully someone will come to pick them up.”

_And hopefully they don’t come after us once they do._

_\-----_

 

They found themselves following a river the next day. Its waters were only frozen along its banks, the only sign so far of the changing season. Chunks of ice were floating down the freezing waters, tumbling and turning in the bubbling currents. They were searching for a place to cross, but the ford marked on the map no longer existed. They had been looking for the majority of the afternoon, and James was beginning to doubt that they would get across the river by the time they needed to make camp. The light had already started to fade, and he could see where the sun would disappear behind the mountains in less than an hour. After the attack from the previous night, he was starting to feel like he was failing at his first assignment. Now he couldn’t even lead them forward.

“What about up ahead?” Naomi asked, pointing to a portion of the river where the rapids appeared to spread out over a shallow stretch of stones. But when they reached the spot the current was stronger than it appeared, and when Bull tossed a small boulder toward the center, there was no _clunk_ of the rock hitting the solid bottom.

“You might just need to freeze the water,” Bull said, looking to Dorian.

Dorian grimaced and crossed his arms. “Ice isn’t my specialty.” Then he rolled his head toward Naomi. “Though with a little extra boost, I could probably manage something.”

Naomi tugged on her left glove and slipped her hand out. She extended it toward Dorian, and he took it with his right, making sure to cover the ring on her finger. He extended his left arm and took a deep breath, whispering something under his breath. James watched as the sliver of ice closest to them started to expand, creeping toward the other bank with jerking bursts of growth. Chips fell off at the leading edges where the current was strongest, but the progress was steady. They might be able to cross before the sun set after all, and even stay dry in the process.

But before Dorian could reach the center of the raging water, James heard the soft crunch of snow, and then a surprised breath from the back of the party. He swung around, with everyone else, already pulling out his blade, to find circled behind them nearly two dozen Avvar, their weapons drawn. Even more stood behind, arrows drawn and ready. Fisher was held in one of their arms, a knife pressed against his throat. The Inquisition soldier swallowed thickly against the blade, his eyes flashing white in panic.

_Fucking Fisher… he was supposed to be watching our back…_

“Who are you,” the tall man holding Fisher demanded gruffly, his voice thickly accented. “Why are you here?”

Silence hung in the air, mixing with the tension, leaving James’s muscles aching to move. It wasn’t until an awkward span of time had passed, with Fisher growing more and more panicked with each passing second, that James realized he was, by default, the ranking Inquisition member. He should say something.

“We are the Inquisition,” James said, taking a step closer to the front of the group, and toward their enemy. The knife dug deeper into Fisher’s neck in response, drawing blood, and James _felt_ the arrows around him train on his body.

“Not another step, lowlander,” the tall man growled.

James halted, but felt anger building in his body. “We are just passing through,” James said, nearly snarling. “There is no need to threaten us!”

The man facing him narrowed his eyes, and a muscle in his jaw clenched. “We saw what you did to the Hakkonites.”

So they _had_ been followed from the previous night’s battle. James gripped his sword tighter, and calculated how long it would take him to run and kill the man in front of him. James knew he would survive whatever arrows they could throw at him, and it would give the others time to spring into action. The only problem was Fisher. He likely wouldn’t survive…

“They attacked us first,” Bull interjected, attempting to soothe the tension. “We were only acting in self-defense. We didn’t want to kill anyone.”

“But you did,” the tall man growled. Still, he made no call for an attack. “Why are you here?” he repeated instead, his eyes slipping back to James.

“That’s none of your business,” James said. They weren’t supposed to advertise their mission.

Fury flashed through the Avvar’s eyes. “You come onto our lands and kill our people, _lowlander_. We _will_ know why you are—“

“They attacked _us_!” James repeated. They had done nothing wrong, and he would not stand to be accused and his people assaulted like this. He took another step forward, his sword still in hand. “You can’t stop us from protecting ourse—“

Something _thunked_ into his body and James winced, instinctually reaching up to pull the arrow from his leg before it healed too thoroughly in place. Adrenaline rushed to every corner of his body and he moved forward, determined to free Fisher from the other man’s grasp, now that he was distracted by the rogue response of his archer.

“Pysäyttää!”

The voice pierced the woods with resounding clarity, sharp and crisp as the snow and ice around them, desperate and hopeful, raw and aching…

It stopped the archers from releasing any more arrows, and though it was in a language James could not understand, it halted him in his tracks. He _knew_ that voice, felt a deep, overwhelming tug at his heart that stole the breath from his chest when he heard it. He searched for its source, letting his eyes fall from the threat of the Avvar in front of him to sweep over hooded faces until he found her, shouldering her way from the back of the group to stand beside the tall man still holding Fisher in his grasp.

 _It’s not possible_. The thought repeated over and over again in James’s mind, even as he looked at the woman standing in front of him and knew exactly who she was. She was thinner, dressed in furs and leathers, her hair long and tangled and wild, and half of her face scarred and damaged nearly beyond recognition…

But she was the same height, held herself the same, her hair just as golden as he remembered, and the rest of her face one he had looked at nearly his entire life…

But it wasn’t possible.

He couldn’t move.

Couldn’t speak.

_It’s not possible._

A voice cracked through the silence. “Abigail!”

Naomi broke from the group and ran across the distance separating her from the Avvar.

From her sister.

James heard muttering around him, a haze of voices. He knew he should do something, say something, but he couldn’t think.

_It’s not possible._

 

* * *

 

Naomi didn’t remember moving from where she had been standing tense and frozen with fear by the river as James talked to the Avvar who had surrounded them. One moment she was watching the situation escalate, realizing there was likely going to be a fight, and the next she watched as her sister stepped from among the very Avvar threatening them. Alive.

She was nearly blinded by tears when she finally reached Abigail, and fumbled while taking her into an embrace, struggling to wrap her arms around her sister. They were both bundled against the cold, but Naomi could still feel the ferocity of Abigail’s hug, and clung to her just as tightly. She sobbed, emptying her eyes into the furs covering Abigail’s shoulders, mind overwhelmed with shock and happiness, lingering doubt and dredged up grief.

_She’s alive. She’s alive, alive, alive…_

She was shaking, with tears still slipping out of her eyes, when Naomi pulled back to better look at her sister. She blinked furiously, heart aching when she up close the scars covering the left side of Abigail’s face. They were long healed, but she had been burned, badly, and though Abigail was smiling back, only one side of her face responded by curving upwards, the other pulled back more in a grimace. Her skin was mottled and shiny, stretched tight around her eye and cheek, her eyebrow gone. The damage extended back, leaving the majority of the side of her head exposed, and the outer portions of her ear shrunken and nearly gone.

Naomi could only partially imagine the type of pain Abigail had endured to receive such an injury, and the lasting pain of bearing those scars. She desperately wanted to know what had happened, wished she could go back and do _something_ to save her sister from whatever had maimed her.

But Abigail had survived. She was _alive_ , and Naomi soaked in the sight of her sister’s face after so many years, scars and all, and felt like running and crying and laughing with joy. There were the same gray eyes, though now ringed with green and shining with tears, as she remembered, her beautiful face and long blonde hair…

“How… how are you here?” Naomi asked, instinctually slipping back into their native language. She felt her lip start to wobble as a fresh wave of tears threatened to spill over. “We thought you were dead.”

Abigail opened her mouth as if to speak, but her voice caught in her throat. Her smile faltered and her eyes grew unfocused. Naomi watched the green in her eyes spark and glow brighter, and felt her arms loosen their hold. But then she shook her head and focused once more on Naomi, her hug returning fiercely.

“I… I’m here like you,” she whispered, voice soft and unsure. “I came through the explosion, through the sky…”

“The Fade, yes,” Naomi said, nodding and sniffing back the snot running from her nose. “Of course, of course. But how are you _here._ ” She wanted to know everything, know every moment of her sister’s life since they had been parted.

Abigail’s eyes wandered away from Naomi, back to the man who was only half-heartedly still holding Fisher as he watched their exchange, confusion pulling his brows together. Abigail’s hold loosened again, and she whispered, “They found me…”

“Kuka nämä ihmiset ovat vaimonsa? Kuinka sinä tunnet ne?” the tall Avvar asked quietly.

“Siskoni...” Abigail said in the man’s language, and let go of Naomi entirely. She stepped back, her eyes now fixed on the Avvar man. Naomi dropped her arms, though they itched to pull Abigail back close.

The Avvar frowned deeply, his nostrils flaring. “Kuinka se on mahdollista?”

He was confused, bordering on angry, and Naomi became acutely aware of just how close she had run toward the Avvar who had stopped them. They had all watched her and Abigail’s exchange, and while Naomi didn’t feel outright threatened, she didn’t feel comfortable being so close.

Abigail had not answered the man, and Naomi watched as her sister stared at him, a muscle in her neck working as she took deep breaths, thinking. “Hän on kuin minä,” she finally responded, slowly, her voice deliberate, cold. “En voi selittää, miten tiedän.”

The shift in Abigail’s tone worried Naomi, and she watched nervously as the tall man turned his gaze toward her, his hazel eyes roving over her form, assessing. “Voimmeko luottaa heihin?” he asked Abigail, his eyes still fixed on Naomi. A shiver ran down Naomi’s spine, and fear joined the emotions roiling through her blood.

Abigail’s eyes shifted back to Naomi, and something in her stomach dropped even further. Her sister’s gaze was distant, the touch of Fade contained in their silver depths bright and unnerving, completely unlike what Naomi felt when looking at James’s eyes, or her own. She didn’t know why, but it scared her. Naomi felt, in that moment, that whatever Abigail was going to say to answer the man’s question would doom them all.

But then the look shifted, cleared, and a look of pain washed over Abigail. She looked back at the man, desperate. “Joo,” she breathed.

He hesitated only a second, before nodding and releasing Fisher from his grip. The Inquisition soldier stumbled away from the Avvar warrior, his hand held to his neck to cover the small cut that had been left by the knife. Naomi let out the breath she had not realized she was holding, and glanced nervously over her shoulder to see those behind her watching just as intently as the Avvar, their hands still on weapons and staves. Naomi tried to smile, but she was too confused to really accomplish any sort of reassurance.

The Avvar man sheathed his knife and signaled for the archers and other warriors to lower their weapons. “I apologize for our hostility,” he said, addressing James and Bull, the two who had spoken earlier. “I am Finn Caldansen. We were on edge after finding the Hakkonites, and only wished to ensure that our own Hold was not in danger. But Lähettänainen says you can be trusted, and we would extend the hospitality of our Hold to you. We know of a crossing several miles up the river, and a place to camp not far from there.”

Naomi didn’t know what to say after the turn in events. The Inquisition soldiers lowered their weapons, but did not put them away, as if Finn’s words would prove to be false.

It was Bull who finally stepped forward, returning his axe to the straps on his back and approaching Finn. James moved a couple steps behind, his expression still a little dazed, as if he had not quite processed everything that had transpired in the last few moments.

“I’m The Iron Bull,” Bull offered, extending his hand toward Finn, stepping slightly in front of Naomi in the process. The tall human stared at the offering, taking it hesitantly after a moment. “We have no intention of causing trouble for your Hold. The Inquisition is a peacekeeping organization.”

Finn nodded. “Yes, we have heard tales.” His eyes shifted to Naomi, roving over her face, and then moved to James, who had joined them at Bull’s other side. “Will you accept our aid?”

Bull reached back and placed a hand on Naomi’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Yeah, I think we will. Thanks.”

Finn nodded and turned on his heels, issuing a series of commands to the Avvar still watching the exchange. Naomi felt unsteady, still roiling from everything that had occurred, and searched for Abigail once again.

But she had disappeared.

“Where is she?” Naomi asked, rising to her tiptoes to try and get a better vantage, her heart racing to find her gone again. “Where did Abigail go?”

_I need to talk to her. I need to look at her. I need to know everything…_

But she was nowhere, and Naomi started to panic, felt her chest squeezing tight. She’d already lost Abigail once, she couldn’t let it happen again.

“She didn’t go far,” Bull reassured her quietly. “She just disappeared back into the woods.”

“I need to go find her…” Naomi said, attempting to move forward. But Bull’s hand on her shoulder held her back.

“Looks like she needs some space.”

“But—“

“She’s just as shocked as you guys,” Bull repeated. “Give her a moment to process everything.” Naomi glanced at James. He was staring into the woods where Abigail had disappeared, looking as if he had seen a ghost.

Which Naomi supposed he had.

And Abigail might be feeling the same way.

So she nodded, and stopped trying to pull fruitlessly away from Bull’s grasp. “I… suppose you’re right.”

“Is that really your sister?” another voice asked, from low at Naomi’s left. She turned to Varric and nodded. Her body started to shake again, as if she were going to start crying once more.

Abigail was alive.

Varric let out a low whistle and grinned. “Well, shit.”

 

\----- 

 

Abigail did not reappear when they started walking, which almost had Naomi panicking.

“I’m sure she knows what she’s doing,” Bull assured her as she craned her neck around, searching in vain for the blonde head of her sister. “She must know these woods better than us.”

“But it’s dangerous,” Naomi insisted, sparks of nervous energy firing through her limbs and making her stomach churn. “She could get hurt.”

“She’s made it this far,” Bull said. “And all the bears are still hibernating.”

It was little comfort to Naomi. She was desperate to know what Abigail’s life had been like the last two years, and she couldn’t help but feel disappointed that Abigail didn’t seem to want the same. The smile she had borne after they hugged was gone, and now Naomi could only remember the blank, distant frown on Abigail’s face before she disappeared. It was like she no longer cared, like they hadn’t been torn from their world and separated for years, believing each other dead for nearly that entire time…

James was useless, still stuck inside of his own head. Naomi tried asking him once what he was thinking, and all he could say was, “I don’t _know.”_

It was a tortuously long walk, and Naomi wished they would move faster. She found herself in a cycle of rushing ahead, then pulling herself back when she nearly overcame the Avvar walking in front of her. In camp she could find Abigail again, and hopefully ease the questions that were bouncing around inside of her. But now she could only walk and wait. And speculate.

The Avvar listened to Abigail, respected her. Naomi had thought little of what had occurred when they first met before, but now she realized that when Abigail had told them to _stop_ , they had. And they had believed her when she said they could be trusted…

It made Naomi feel a little better, thinking her sister must not have been mistreated by these people. But it also confused her. What had Abigail been up to, to earn such a standing among them? To be called… whatever Finn called her. From what Naomi remembered her sister was no leader, preferring to keep to herself and follow directions when given. She had been outgoing, but seemed to have little sense of direction of her own life, and no lofty aspirations beyond wanting to be a teacher.

That had clearly changed, and Naomi ached knowing she had missed it all.

Naomi finally spotted Abigail toward the end of the journey, now at the head of their train, joining Finn in leading them up the river. Naomi contemplated rushing ahead to talk to her, but Abigail quickly fell into an intense conversation with Finn, and Naomi decided she would wait until they made camp.

Abigail didn’t look back toward Naomi and James once during the final distance, and was pulled to the edge of camp when they finally arrived at the location Finn had spoken of. Naomi watched as the taller Avvar conversed with Abigail, both of them speaking with hushed voices and frowns on their faces. Naomi drank in the sight of her sister. It was hard to see anything other than her face under her furs, but Naomi thought she looked well, despite the scars.

When they were done speaking Abigail sent one, brief look toward Naomi. Naomi’s heart thumped, and she took a step closer.

But then Abigail turned and walked once more into the forest, the snow clearing itself away in a path in front of her with clouds of steam.

Naomi blinked. A mage. Her sister was a mage.

She was also gone, once more hiding herself away.

Surprise and disappointment and curiosity and sadness collided in Naomi and she started to cry, tears slipping down her cheeks and freezing in the cold air before she even knew what was happening. She ducked her head and wiped at her eyes, trying to keep her emotions from spreading into a full blown breakdown.

Abigail was alive and she kept running away. The grief Naomi had felt when James had told her Abigail was dead had surfaced again, clawing and battering at her heart until it ached, and now she couldn’t even do anything to soothe it, because for some reason, Abigail refused to talk to her.

“Come now, no tears,” Dorian’s gentle voice soothed, and his arm slipped through Naomi’s. He guided her away from the middle of the camp where she had been standing, back toward the fire the Inquisition had set up to cook their evening meal. Naomi sat down and covered her face with her gloved hands. Dorian’s arrival hadn’t exactly helped her control her crying.

“This is supposed to be a happy day,” Dorian continued, his arm still twined with hers. “It’s not a time to cry!”

“I am happy,” Naomi managed to gasp through her tears, crying even harder.

“The tears would suggest otherwise,” Dorian quipped.

Naomi laughed despite herself, and took several deep breaths. It helped a little. “She keeps hiding,” she whispered, noticing when she looked up that nearly everyone was also circled around the fire. Her embarrassment at being seen so emotional helped her subdue her compulsion to cry even more. “I haven’t had a chance to talk to her since she… since she hugged me…” She hiccupped another sob, and sniffed to pull it back. “I thought she was happy too, and now she’s just…”

“Probably just as overwhelmed as you,” Bull said. “And she’s finding out _two_ of her dead family are still alive.”

“It’s not like her,” Naomi said. “She wouldn’t run away from me.”

“Well, she’s probably changed since you last saw her,” Bull offered gently. “You and James certainly have.”

Naomi knew that, but she still felt that no matter what Abigail had been through, she would not hide at a time like this.

“What about you James, are you excited to find your sister?” Bull asked, turning toward James, who was sitting on a log, staring blankly at the fire.

He blinked a few times and shifted his focus to the Qunari. “Yeah, of course.”

“Please, try to contain your enthusiasm,” Dorian muttered. Naomi might have laughed, under different circumstances.

“You don’t look like it,” she accused her brother.

James glared at her. “Well excuse me for being a bit surprised to find Abigail in the middle of fucking nowhere! What am I supposed to be doing? I thought she was dead!”

“And why did you think that!?” Naomi pushed back. “How can she be alive if you saw her body in the Fade!?”

“I don’t know!” James yelled. “I saw them! Mom and Dad, and… and…” He frowned, and shook his head. “I was sure she was there. But I can’t remember…”

“If you didn’t see her we could have looked for her!” Naomi exclaimed. She had believed James, but if his mistake meant Abigail had been here the entire time… “We could have tried to find her!”

“This is not my fault!” James argued. “You don’t know what Mom and Dad looked like! We were being chased! Everything came back to me at once and I… I thought Abigail would have been with them when the Breach opened. I _knew_ she would have died with them!”

“You shouldn’t have assumed!” Naomi cried.

“Don’t blame me—!”

“Hey now,” Bull interjected. “This is no one’s fault.”

“You’re both just worked up,” Varric added. “Give it a little time to cool off, then you all can talk—”

But Naomi was frustrated, and she wanted answers. She couldn’t stand not knowing how Abigail had ended up with the Avvar, or what she had been doing for the past two years.

So she stood up and left the fire behind, marching across the camp toward the trail of melted snow Abigail had left in her wake. But she hesitated before entering the trees. The sun had disappeared behind the mountains and the understory had quickly grown dark.

“Where are you going?” Finn’s deep accented voice asked. Naomi spun around, startled, and took a step back when she found Finn standing uncomfortably close.

“I was going to find Abigail,” Naomi told him. “I need to talk to her.”

Finn studied her, and Naomi squirmed a little under his intense gaze. He was so tall, and she couldn’t help but feel like he was… judging her somehow.

“I will go and tell her,” Finn finally said. “You should not travel these woods at night alone.”

“I can go get someone to come with me,” Naomi suggested.

But Finn shook his head. “The lowlanders should stay in camp as well. I will find her and tell her your message.”

Naomi wanted to argue, but she also didn’t want to anger Finn. His Avvar outnumbered their own group two to one, and they had generously offered to help them move forward on their journey. They’d also sheltered Abigail.

“Fine,” Naomi conceded. “Thank you.”

 

* * *

 

Abigail dropped the last piece of her clothing to the ground, leaving her skin exposed to the freezing air. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, invigorated by the ice entering her lungs. But the cold didn’t affect her limbs, as she transformed that breath into fire that spread from her chest to her toes.

She stepped into the pool in front of her, a small offshoot from the river. The ice crusting the water’s surface melted at her touch, followed by the water as she submerged her entire leg. She walked further into the pool, channeling her magic out into the water, heating it until steam wafted up around her face. She ducked below the surface, engulfing herself by the near boiling water.

_James and Naomi are alive._

Part of her had always wondered if it was true. She had made it out of that in-between place, after all, dangerous and difficult as it was. It was not a stretch to think at least one of her siblings had as well. Of course, there was always the possibility their fate and been the same as their parents, burned nearly beyond recognition, dead before they even had a change to escape.

Those memories were driven from her mind before they had a chance to fester, but she resisted the impulse to forget her siblings as well.

She could not ignore that they were here. That they had appeared to turn her world on its edge.

Years. It had been years since she’d last seen their faces. Still, she had recognized them immediately, and for the first time in a long while everything felt focused, and her pain was sharp and stinging and present…

She gasped as she broke from the water’s surface, the burning of her lungs begging for air matching the searing ache of grief in her chest. The part of herself bent on survival and self-preservation soothed the pain, and Abigail lowered herself down until her nose brushed the water’s surface. She took deep breaths and let a wash of calm sooth her, numbing her mind and her body.

_They will be gone tomorrow. Nothing has to change._

But Abigail shook her head. _Everything has changed._

She could not ignore her siblings, and the Avvar would not ignore them either. She had told Finn that Naomi was like her, to cover her slip. She had claimed Naomi as her sister. Something that should not be possible, considering what the Avvar believed Abigail to be.

_You explained yourself. He believed you._

Or so he said. Abigail still struggled to read Finn sometimes. He could keep his emotions close to his chest when he wanted, and she knew he must be suspicious of her.

But he also held his beliefs firmly against his heart. It would take much to shake his belief in her.

Still, having James and Naomi around was a threat, and everything would be easier if they could just… leave, as if they were never here.

But Abigail didn’t want that. They were back in her life, and she didn’t want them gone again. Not much about them seemed to have changed, considering the years. Yes, they were both older, stronger – especially James – and clearly doing well with this Inquisition they travelled with. Still, Naomi was just as expressive and affectionate, James distant and aloof…

She had missed them. Missed the familiar, and now was a chance to get at least a piece of that back.

_They are a threat. You will be expelled if they realize you are not Suosi._

_Then I will join my family._

_How do you know they will protect you like the Avvar have?_

_Because they are my_ family.

_The Hold is your family now, you don’t need the—_

Abigail stood abruptly from the water, leaving it lapping around her waist, the cold slap of the wind on her wet skin shocking her into focus, clearing her mind of the haze that had accompanied the warmth of the water. She needed her mind clear so that she could _think,_ and decide what she was going to do.

James and Naomi would take her with them, take her away from these mountains to their own new home. Everyone among the Avvar had heard of the Inquisition. It was powerful, and Abigail would be safe there.

 _You are already safe,_ a voice in the back of her head whispered, seeding doubt in her mind. _Abandoning the Avvar would doom you._

Abigail remembered then the fear she had felt when she first dropped from the sky, and the pain, spreading like fire over her body. She clutched her left arm, feeling the scarred, marbled skin, reliving the days when the burns covering her body were fresh, when the pain kept her from sleeping, when she wished she would die…

_Your brother and sister did not save you. They did._

_I did._

The pain faded and Abigail opened her eyes, looking down her body at the scars covering most of the left side. The skin was thick and unevenly colored, shining in what little light filtered through the trees from the moon above. She moved the fingers of her left hand, still stiff even though the skin was softened by being in the warm water. It had taken weeks to heal, during which she could barely move, confined to lying on furs while healers tended to her with pastes and teas and sessions of magic. Her skin had peeled and ached and peeled again, until all that was left were the scars. Eventually she could move, but she’d struggled to understand the language spoken around her, the customs, her own magic… and what these people expected of her.

And she was forced to accept that she was in a new world, her parents dead, and alone.

James and Naomi had not helped her make a new life.

_Leaving now would be a mistake._

A twig snapped and Abigail turned toward the sound, raising a hand in readiness to attack. Everything around her grew fainter, but instead of being afraid, Abigail was comforted. She was not a fighter. She liked the distance.

But it was only Finn.

Abigail lowered her hand. Finn stopped at the edge of the pool, his eyes roaming appreciatively over her body, stopping for a moment on her right breast and the nipple that had grown hard and pointed in the freezing air.

He started to undress, and Abigail watched, still somewhat disconnected, as he revealed his own muscled, impressive form. The beat of her heart increased, and warmth pooled between her legs at the sight of the hardened member between his. She stood frozen as he entered the water, cognizant enough to lower the temperature somewhat for his non-magical body. He walked to where she was standing and pulled her close. She looked up at him and felt her eyes grow unfocused when his hand cupped her breast, squeezing and pulling on the hardened nipple.

He bent down and kissed her neck, on the unblemished skin, nipping and sucking on her pulse. It drew a gasp from her, and everything grew that much fuzzier.

“She wants to talk to you,” Finn murmured, working his other hand between her legs. A finger slipped into her folds and Abigail gasped, widening her stance.

“Who?” she whispered, half in a daze. She could never focus when he touched her, barely felt in control of her own body when they fucked.

“Your… sister,” he said, biting harder and pushing his fingers inside of her. She was wet and ready, and a loud, low moan passed her lips when he started to pump.

“I don’t want to talk about her,” she said sharply, unbidden, grabbing his body for support and rocking into his hand. _I need to fuck, I need him inside of me…_

Finn grunted and took her lips with his, kissing her hard and insistent. Everything else forgotten, Abigail pulled herself up his body so she could wrap her legs around his waist. Or at least, she somehow ended up clinging to his body, his cock pressed against her. She couldn’t remember moving.

Everything else was a blur, as it always was, bits and pieces of their movements leaking through the haze of pleasure that encompassed Abigail’s mind when they fucked. It had been days since they’d last lain together, and Finn was desperate, harsh and demanding…

He walked them across the pool, something Abigail only realized when her back scraped against cold, hard stone. She didn’t even bother to warm it, just threw her head back and groaned…

He was inside of her, working himself deep and grunting into her neck with each thrust.

He bit her shoulder while he pumped and Abigail cried out, encouraging him to continue.

His pace was urgent, driving, his grip bruising, and she started to ache.

She screamed, moaned, begged him to continue until her voice was hoarse.

The next thing she knew, Finn lowered her gently from the stony bank and into the warm water, her legs and arms still grasping him. She couldn’t remember coming, but she must have, considering the satisfied ache in her core. She didn’t remember Finn finishing either, but she knew he too had found his pleasure as his cock softened inside of her. Her neck and her voice were raw, but the rest of her was relaxed and warm, content in his arms.

He kissed her again, gently this time, and cupped the right side of her face as he carried her slowly around the steamy pool, aided by the buoyancy of the water. His other hand circled her body and roamed over the undamaged parts of her back.

“Is the other man one of your siblings?” Finn asked after a moment, halting his movement and pulling away from their kiss.

“What?” Abigail asked, shaking her head to pull herself from her post-sex haze. She looked into Finn’s serious hazel gaze.

“The tall dark-haired warrior. His eyes are like yours, and your sisters. Is he like you as well?”

_Don’t tell him.  It will just complicate things further._

_But he’s already figured it out. I can’t lie to him._

_But…_

_He’s accepted my explanation of Naomi._

Abigail nodded. “He is Suosi, but not a sibling. I’m… not sure how I know him.”

Finn nodded. “There is no mention of Tyrdda having a brother.” He stared off into the distance for a moment. “The lowlander’s need must have been great, for two Suosi to be born amongst them, and not with our own people.”

“The tales suggest so.”

Finn nodded again, then carefully lifted Abigail off of himself and placed her back on the pool’s floor. “Perhaps they will agree to aid us in removing the last of the ice giants.”

A stab of panic shot through Abigail.

_The longer they stay, the more likely it is you will be discovered!_

“They are likely here on their own business.”

“I would still ask for their assistance.”

_He cannot talk to them first!_

“Let me,” Abigail suggested. She ran one of her hands along his jaw, stubbled with hair. He had not shaved in days. “My sister already wishes to speak with me.”

“Very well,” Finn said, but held her back when she attempted to leave the pool. “First, I would like to bathe and wash away the grime of travel,” he said, his fingers once more caressing her body, traveling toward her breast. “And I would enjoy this chance to be alone with my wife.”

A part of Abigail screamed to get back to camp and find her siblings before they could do more damage. But she knew she could not leave Finn without raising suspicion. So she nodded, and pulled him down for another kiss.

_It will be easier to speak with them in your dreams anyway._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suosi – Favored. What Avvar call those souls that have returned.


	5. Chapter 4 - Purpose

“What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know.”

“We can’t leave without talking to her.”

“Well duh… but she’s always avoided us, hiding herself away in her room or going out with friends. This is just her… being her.”

“You know this is different, James. We haven’t seen each other in years. She shouldn’t be hiding from us.”

“There isn’t much we can do about it right now.”

Naomi wrapped her arms around her knees and watched Serenity, frowning. The spirit was grazing, casting her constant and calming presence over the clearing, their two new wisp companions ambling around her legs. There had been a few piles of snow littering the ground and banked against the trunks of gnarled trees when she first arrived, but Naomi had quickly removed them, urging grass and flowers to sprout in their place.

It was the best thing about dreaming in the Fade during the winter. Naomi could be frozen to her core while awake, forced to bundle herself inside layers of wool and furs to stay alive, perpetually in a state of cold and discomfort, but in the Fade… in the Fade she was _warm._

Not that she felt like enjoying the warmth that night. She had stayed up later than usual, first waiting by the fire for Abigail to return from the woods, and then, when that became no longer bearable, in her tent, where she pressed her back against Krem’s while wormed deep in her bedroll.

“Did you talk to her?” Krem whispered when she finally came in for the night.

“No,” Naomi mumbled miserably, pulling the furs over her ears. They were starting to smell musty from use, but they were too warm to really make her care.

“I’m sure you’ll have a chance tomorrow,” came Krem’s soft answer, and he shifted his body, pressing more of his warmth against her.

“I hope so,” Naomi whispered back, squeezing her eyes tight, pushing back more tears.

She didn’t fall asleep right away, as she stayed up listening between the soft crunch of feet on packed snow, the wind gusting through bare branches, and the whispering of conversations from adjacent tents for Abigail’s voice, for some sign she had returned from the woods with Finn.

Naomi desperately wanted Cullen during those moments. Krem and Dalish and Rocky were decent enough tent mates – even with Rocky’s snoring – but none of them could provide the comfort Naomi craved. She wanted Cullen’s arms wrapped around her body, holding her close, his hand in hers, and his voice in her ear, assuring her that everything would be ok.

She twisted her ring around her finger and tried not to cry, tried not to think that Abigail would never return from those woods. And as usual, talking to James was more frustrating than anything else.

“You’ve been in a bad mood all day, you know,” she told James.

His eyes flashed blue toward hers. “I have not.”

Naomi raised her eyebrows. “You’re doing it right now. And we can’t figure out what to do if you won’t calm down.”

James face twisted into an even more sour expression, and Naomi resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

 _He feels guilty,_ Serenity’s soft voice whispered in Naomi’s mind. _He shouldn’t have thought her dead._

Regret flooded through Naomi, for her anger and her outburst by the fire. _It’s not his fault,_ Naomi thought. _I know that._

_He wants to make it right. He doesn’t know how._

Naomi didn’t either, but arguing with her brother wouldn’t give her an answer.

“I don’t blame you for not realizing Abigail was alive,” Naomi said quietly, watching her brother’s troubled face. “I’m sorry I yelled at you earlier.”

James’s frown deepened, and he flicked his eyes suspiciously toward Serenity. One of the wisps wandered toward Naomi, pulsing slightly with soft light, and settled against her side, nuzzling into the crook of her waist. Naomi felt the urge to wrap her arm around the creature to pull it close.

“You’re right though,” James admitted, and Naomi looked up from the spirit, though she could feel it emitting warmth into her body. “I should have realized she wasn’t there, that she wasn’t dead.”

“It’s not your fault,” Naomi assured him again. “I’m just… frustrated with her, mostly. And I took that out on you.”

His expression smoothed somewhat, and Naomi was happy to see his shoulders relax. He leaned back against a tree and closed his eyes. “What if she’s their prisoner? We don’t know anything about these people.”

Naomi swallowed the lump that formed in her throat. “She wasn’t restrained.”

“She’s been here for two years. She may not even realize she’s being controlled anymore… but if they’ve threatened her to stay, or hurt her if she tried to leave…”

“We… we can’t jump to conclusions like that,” Naomi whispered. But she started to wonder, realizing that Abigail’s change in demeanor could have been because she was afraid, that she hadn’t come back from the woods because Finn hadn’t let her…

“I’ll kill them if they’ve hurt her,” James said, his voice low and soft. Naomi believed he would.

She desperately hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

_She’s here._

Naomi snapped her head toward Serenity. _What?_

The spirit was at attention, her muscles tensed, her eyes and ears pointed toward the woods across the clearing, tail flicking nervously.

Naomi stood slowly and watched the mist woven through the trees. A figure walked from the darkness.

Abigail.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” James exclaimed, as he caught sight of Abigail without the benefit of Serenity’s warning.

Abigail crossed her arms and smirked. “Nice to see you too, James.”

Naomi was elated to see her again, and snorted out a laugh, surprising herself by finding humor in Abigail’s response. She noticed that in the Fade, Abigail’s scars were gone, and that she was dressed in nothing more than loose pants and a band of leather over her breasts.

James was less amused. “You can’t just fucking sneak up on people like that,” he grumbled, scrambling to his feet. He glared at Abigail, his nostrils flaring. “How are you even here?”

Abigail raised a single eyebrow. “Well, how are you here?”

A muscle in James’s jaw clenched as he struggled to respond. “She’s a mage, James,” Naomi clarified. “If anyone should be a natural Dreamer, it should be her.”

James’s jaw dropped open. “You’re a _mage?”_

“Yeah.”

“What the…” James muttered, rubbing at his temples. “How in the fuck are you a _mage?”_

Abigail shrugged. “I don’t know.”

James growled, then he advanced on Abigail a step, glaring. “Why have you been avoiding us all day? Do you know how worried we’ve been? Why the fuck won’t you talk to us? And… and where did your scars go?”

Abigail’s change in demeanor was instantaneous. Her smile disappeared, and she stared coldly at James. “I wanted to talk without a chance of being overheard,” she told him, ignoring his comment about her scars.

The shift worried Naomi, as it had earlier, and so did Abigail’s comment. She wondered again if James wasn’t right after all, that Abigail being with the Avvar was not entirely her choice.

 _She is excited and worried,_ Serenity murmured. _Her voice split… suspicious and afraid. You threaten her._

Naomi glanced toward the doe and frowned. _Why does she think we are a threat? We’re her family._

Serenity’s tail flicked, and Naomi watched the wisps amble between her legs. _Her life is not like yours. She has told many lies._

Naomi swallowed the lump that formed in her throat and turned back to her sister. Abigail had moved to watching Serenity and the wisps intently, her eyes following the rambling movements of the shining spheres. Of course she should have realized Abigail would have told her own story to explain her origin, and that she and James might not fit into that narrative. Even if she was here by choice, it would be difficult to explain the appearance of siblings that were not supposed to exist.

“Of course, that makes sense,” Naomi interjected, hoping to keep their reunion on track by avoiding an argument between her younger siblings. “And we’re sorry if we’ve made things more complicated for you here.”

Abigail’s gaze shifted toward Naomi, and the hard edges around her expression softened. “I know you didn’t mean to,” she said quietly. “We’re just… I’m just surprised to see you.”

Naomi frowned. _We…_

_She’s not alone._

Naomi glanced toward Serenity. But the spirit didn’t seem alarmed. So Naomi turned back to her sister. “Is… someone else here?”

Abigail stiffened. “What do you mean?”

“You said ‘we’,” James told her.

Abigail’s eyes widened slightly, and she looked once more toward Serenity, staring at the spirit for a long moment. But then she hugged herself closer and nodded.

Another shape materialized from the fog clinging to the ground between the trees beyond, and a cat-like creature padded over the sparse grass to wind between Abigail’s legs. Larger than a housecat, it resembled something like a lynx with a much longer tail… but the proportions were off somehow, though Naomi couldn’t quite identify exactly what was wrong.

“This is Purpose,” Abigail said, lowering one of her hands to her side. The spirit lifted its nose and nuzzled against her palm, then sat and turned its piercing green gaze toward Naomi and James. “It’s helped me.”

“You have a fucking spirit too?” James asked, exasperated. He crossed his arms and studied the creature at Abigail’s side suspiciously. His frown deepened. “Isn’t it… bad for spirits to be around mages?”

A corner of Abigail’s lips rose. “I’ve heard lowlanders were afraid of spirits.”

“For good reason,” James retorted, still watching the lynx suspiciously. “We’ve been fighting demons for years.”

“So have I. But the Avvar know how to deal with spirits. You don’t need to worry. Besides, this isn’t a demon,” Abigail assured them. Her eyes shifted toward Serenity, who had wandered off somewhat with the wisps in tow. “You seem to have figured out how to deal with spirits yourself.”

“We’ve had to,” Naomi said. Abigail said nothing, and Naomi realized she was not going to offer more about herself without more prodding. She’d grown closed off ever since James mentioned her scars.

“How have you been?” Naomi asked her sister. “I still can’t believe you’re here.” She sniffed a little, blinking back a few tears. “I’m so, so glad that you’re alive.”

“Why did you think I was dead?”

There was almost… hurt in her voice. “James remembered seeing Mom and Dad in the Fade. He assumed…”

“Of course he did,” Abigail muttered, glaring at James.

“You didn’t see them,” James said, defending himself. “How could I have thought you’d survive…?”

The storm in Abigail’s gaze made Naomi’s heart ache. “I did see them. And I did survive.”

James was silenced, and Naomi felt them losing Abigail again. But then she turned to Naomi and took a deep breath, the pain and anger disappearing as quickly as it had come. “First, I want to hear what you have experienced since we were brought here.”

It was progress at least, so Naomi nodded. “Ok, we can do that,” she agreed. Abigail lowered herself to the ground, and the lynx-cat crawled into her lap and she stroked its fur. Naomi sat herself, and when she thought back to where they had begun in Thedas, she realized something she had yet to tell Abigail.

Naomi took a deep breath. “I need to tell you about David first.”

Abigail stared back, expression unchanging, as if the mention of their youngest brother meant nothing. Naomi fiddled with the ring around her finger, unsure of how to continue without some sort of acknowledgment.

The flicker of recognition finally came. “How is he?” Abigail asked.

Naomi shook her head, tears building in her eyes even these years later. “He… he died. Not long after we arrived.”

It was an entire heartbeat before shock and grief fell across Abigail’s face. She ducked her head and covered her face, and Naomi struggled to keep herself together watching her sister grieve. James stared blankly into the forest, lost in his own memories.

But then Abigail abruptly looked up and wiped at her face. She took another deep breath and nodded. “How did it happen?” she asked, moving on from her sadness as quickly as it had fallen.

Naomi struggled to talk now that her own grief had resurfaced, but told Abigail everything she thought relevant, from the moment she woke to when they left for the Frostback Basin. James jumped in with his own experiences and perspectives, interrupting Naomi when he felt she hadn’t accurately reported events. Abigail rarely spoke, save to ask the occasional question, stroking the spirit on her lap constantly. It took what felt like hours, and Naomi found herself a little amazed at everything that had happened in just over two years.

“We came here because I’m hoping to explore a lyrium mine,” Naomi concluded. “I want to find some way to kill it, and I think the best place to look for something is where it grows. James was getting bored back at Skyhold, so he came along.”

“I’m here to protect you,” James corrected. “And because I’m good at it.”

Naomi grinned. “Yeah, yeah, if you say so.” Talking about their past had brought up painful memories, but the good came too, and she was in a better mood than when she started.

Abigail scratched beneath the spirit’s chin, her mood less lightened. But she seemed to have relaxed as Naomi dove deeper into her tale. “You were lucky the Inquisition found you,” she said.

“Yes, we were,” Naomi agreed. Abigail said nothing in response, and some of Naomi’s worries about what her sister had been through resurfaced. “What about you?” she asked gently. “What have you been doing?”

Abigail’s eyes rose from the ground and met Naomi’s. “I… was burned in the explosion. I survived because my magic… appeared. I found a rift like you did, and escaped the… what did you call it? The Fade? Finn was on a hunting trip with some other hunters and found me. They healed me and brought me back to the hold. I’ve been living with the Stone Bear hold ever since.”

It was an unsatisfying short explanation. “That’s it?” James asked, leaning forward accusingly. “That’s all you have to say after _two years.”_

“We just want to know more,” Naomi interjected, trying to keep Abigail from shutting down again because James was being too pushy. “We’ve been worried about you, about these people. We weren’t sure if they have… been treating you well.”

Abigail’s expression suggested Naomi had gone mad. “I’ve been perfectly fine here.”

“Ok,” Naomi said, though she was not entirely convinced. “How much do they know about where you’re from?”

“They don’t know the truth.”

“So… what have you told them?” James asked when Abigail did not elaborate.

Abigail’s fingers stopped their gentle movement over the cat’s back. “Finn and his hunters saw me come out of the rift, and they… had their own explanation.” She let out a long sigh. “They believe I was sent by one of their gods to help them fight the demons that started to appear from the rifts that opened in the basin.”

Naomi felt her mouth drop open, and James let out an incredulous gasp.

“What the fuck?” he asked.

Abigail bit at her lip and stared toward the sky. “They believe that some of their people return after they die to new bodies. Normally they come back as new babies, but they think I was sent back in an adult body so I could help kill the demons that appeared when the Breach opened.”

“And you went along with that?” James asked.

Abigail glared at him. “What else could I tell them? They were willing to believe this, _and_ take me in and shelter me because of it.”

“Jesus Christ,” James muttered.

“That’s why you were distant,” Naomi said wearily. “Because we shouldn’t be here.”

Abigail nodded. “I shouldn’t have a brother and a sister, but I accidentally called you my sister, Naomi, so I had to find a way to explain that.”

Naomi raised her eyebrow. “And?”

Abigail sighed. “They think you’re like me. A Suosi, someone who has returned. I told Finn you were my sister in our past lives.” Her eyes shifted to James. “I also told him you are Suosi, James. But you’re not my brother.”

James groaned and brought a hand to rub his temples, covering his eyes at the same time. “Fuck, Abigail, now we have to lie to them?”

But she shook her head. “I don’t think they will say anything. Suosi don’t remember their past lives, and since you are with the lowlanders… they won’t expect that you even know. But they might… treat you differently.”

“Differently?” Naomi asked.

“With reverence,” Abigail explained. “And they will probably listen to you more than the other lowlanders.”

“Awesome,” James grumbled. “Pulled into your lie...”

“It’s not my fault you showed up here,” Abigail told him angrily. “And I can’t change what they believe. You _have_ to go along with this.” There was a hint of desperation behind her words.

“No we don’t,” James retorted.

“They take care of me because of what they think,” Abigail insisted. “They took me in because of it! If they realize I’ve been lying, they’ll turn me away!”

“Then you can come with us,” Naomi said gently, and she chanced reaching to place a hand on Abigail’s knee. “In fact… you can come with us now.”

Abigail’s eyes widened, and she stiffened under Naomi’s touch. “I… I can’t leave,” she said.

“Why not?” Naomi asked. “You can come live with us, and we… we can be together again…”

But Abigail was shaking her head, and Naomi noticed the lynx-cat in her lap had puffed its tail up so that it was three times its normal size. “This is my home,” she whispered.

“I understand that,” Naomi said. “But if you came with us you wouldn’t have to lie anymore. You wouldn’t have to worry.”

Abigail looked at Naomi, confusion drawing her brows together, her eyes slightly unfocused. “This is my home,” she repeated. “I’m safe here. They need me…”

“Come on, don’t be stupid,” James interjected. “You don’t need to stay here, we can keep you safe.”

Abigail’s gaze focused on James, and she frowned. She rose to her feet, causing the spirit to bound out of her lap and start to pace nervously around her feet. “I’m not being stupid,” she sneered at James. “And I’m not helpless. I’ve taken care of myself for years.”

Naomi quickly stood herself. “Of course you’re not stupid, Abigail. We just want to make sure you’re safe…”

“I’ve _been_ safe,” Abigail cried, backing away from Naomi and James. “I’ve been more than safe. _You’re_ the only reason anything has changed!’

“Come on Abby,” James said. “You’re not thinking. Just come back with us and everything will be easier…”

“I can make my own decisions!” Abigail yelled. She had quickly grown angry, and Naomi noticed that her fingertips started to glow with pricks of flame.

“Abby, we can talk about this…” Naomi pleaded, trying to calm her sister from her sudden shift in mood.

“Why?” Abigail said sharply. “So you can try to convince me that _you’re_ right? That _you_ know what’s best for me?”

Naomi shook her head. “What? Abby, that’s not—“

“Abby, what’s wrong with you?” James said, much louder than Naomi. “Why the fuck would you want to stay here?”

“Nothing is wrong,” Abigail snarled, advancing on James a step. He retreated, his eyes flicking down to the fire now lapping in the palms of her hands.

“What the fuck Abby?” he asked.

“You can’t just show up here and expect I’ll do what you want!” Abigail continued to rant. She was beyond reason, Naomi realized, angered by some slight that she couldn’t begin to identify… “This is my home, and I don’t need you to keep me safe. I don’t need protection! If anything the Avvar need _me._ And I don’t. Want. To leave.”

Naomi didn’t know what to do. They were losing Abigail again, and she didn’t even know why. She couldn’t see what they had done wrong, or how she could convince to change her mind. “Abby,” Naomi whispered, desperate. “Are you… sure?”

Abigail turned her eyes to Naomi, glaring. The flames in her hands flashed. “Of course I’m sure.”

“Abby, don’t be stupid,” James repeated, risking a step toward his sister.

“Finn is going to ask you to help kill the ice giants we are hunting tomorrow,” Abigail continued, as if she hadn’t heard James. “But you should leave, return to your quest to find lyrium. Naomi’s fiancé needs it.”

“Abby—“ James interjected.

“NO!” Abigail cried, cutting him off. “I want you to _go._ I have been fine on my own, and I don’t need either of you to tell me what to do! You just make things more complicated by being here, so _leave._ ”

With that, she turned and walked from the clearing, Purpose bounding along the ground beside her feet, stopping at the edge of the trees to send one last, long look at James and Naomi before following Abigail into the mist.

“Abby, wait!” Naomi called after her. But Abigail didn’t look back.

_No, no, no… we can’t lose her again…_

But there was nothing Naomi could do, other than drag Abigail back to Skyhold. She felt helpless watching Abigail disappear, and a deep wrench in her chest. Abigail was alive, but she hadn’t returned.

James started walking the moment Abigail was out of sight, following after her with long, angry strides. Naomi ran after him and pulled him back by his arm. “James, what are you doing?” she asked.

“Going to talk some fucking sense into her,” James exclaimed. “There’s something wrong with her…”

“She’s not going to listen to you,” Naomi said. “If anything, you’re the one who made her angry!” She saw that now, how James accusing Abigail of stupidity just drove her further and further away.

“Don’t blame this on me!”

“She has a life her now! You think you’re going to convince her to leave by calling her stupid?” Naomi cried.

“You honestly think she _wants_ to be here?” James retorted. “She’s… brainwashed or something.”

“James, she’s not brainwashed,” Naomi said. “She’s just… found a new home. Like we have.” It left Naomi aching, but it was true. Abigail had made a life, and it was wrong to think they could convince her to change for them.

James stopped trying to walk after Abigail, and turned to glare at Naomi. “How can you be ok with this?”

“I’m not! But I can’t force her to come with us, James. She’s right, she can make her own decisions.”

He grasped his hands behind his neck. “I don’t like it,” he grumbled. “She seems… off.”

“She’s changed,” Naomi said. “What else would you expect after all this time?”

James growled and closed his eyes. “We still don’t know anything about these Avvar… she still might not be safe. We can’t just _leave_ her here. They think she’s some sort of… of god or something. She can’t keep lying forever!”

“Fuck,” Naomi sighed, rubbing at her eyes. “I forgot about that…” If Abigail’s true nature was revealed, she might really be in danger. Naomi let out a long breath. “Ok… I’ll go find her,” Naomi decided. “I’ll try to get some more information out of her…”

_She’s gone._

Naomi glanced toward Serenity, her heart dropping. It was probably near morning, and if Abigail had wakened…

“Or I’ll find her in camp,” Naomi decided. “Talk before… before we have to leave…”

She groaned. Abigail was right about one thing. If Naomi wanted to see lyrium, if she wanted to help Cullen, she couldn’t stay. “We have to meet Varric’s contact,” Naomi sighed. “We… we can’t stay here any longer.” But they couldn’t leave Abigail like this, without her sister at least knowing where she could find them again, and that she was always welcome.

“Godammit,” James muttered, and he started to pace. Then he opened his eyes and lowered his hands. “I can stay,” he said. “I’ll join them on this giant hunt, and at least make sure she’s ok.”

Naomi nodded. “Yes… yes you could do that,” she said excitedly. Then she sobered. “But you c _an’t_ call her stupid James. She’s not going to listen to you at all if you keep treating her like a child.”

James growled, but eventually nodded. “Fine.” Then he let out a long breath and stalked toward the center of the clearing. “Make me a sword and a sparring dummy. I need to hit something.”

 

* * *

 

Abigail didn’t want to leave her bedroll.

She didn’t know what she would do once she got up. Beyond the confines of her furs was nothing but uncertainty, and anger. James and Naomi hadn’t changed. They still thought they were better than her, smarter than her… They wanted to take her away, force her to start over again. She couldn’t trust them to keep her true nature a secret. They had made it very clear in the Fade that they threatened the life she had made for herself.

 _I want to be here,_ she thought, _I don’t want to leave… not really…_

 _You don’t need them. You’ve done well without them,_ survived _without them._ This _is your home._

 _But I don’t… I don’t want to lose them again…_ Because despite how angry they could make her, she cared for them, and she was happy to see them back in her life…

 _They’ve done nothing for you. Even before they could barely bring themselves to care. Your parents didn’t care. You do not need them. Your ties to them were cut the moment you married. Finn is your family. The hold is your family._ I _am your family._

Abigail took a deep breath and nodded. Purpose had never led her astray, never let her down. From the beginning it was there, helping her, guiding her, providing her answers and a way forward when she could not see it herself…

 _Your purpose is here,_ the spirit’s soft voice assured her, and she felt her pain and confusion fading. _You are needed here. You heard what they have. They do no need you._

They would be gone soon, chasing this lyrium that Naomi needed for her fiancé, and Abigail’s life would go back to normal. Or at least back to what it had become.

There was no way for them to go back, to be what they once were. Her parents were dead, David was dead… and James and Naomi had moved on. Leaving the Avvar and Finn would accomplish nothing for Abigail. Just more confusion and heartache.

But she felt a bubble of guilt moving up through her body when she thought of Naomi’s disappointment, and dread when she considered how angry James would be. But Purpose stamped those feelings down, gently soothing away the hurts in her soul.

_I will help…_

Abigail relaxed, and let Purpose push its presence further into her mind, spreading and inhabiting her limbs, mingling with the constant thrum of magic in her blood. It was warmth and comfort, assurance in her very bones that she was never alone.

She didn’t care that things were foggy, as if she was only half woken from sleep. It was easier to let Purpose guide her movements and the words that she said, easier to rely on the spirit than to try and navigate this world on her own.

_Wake him._

It was difficult to tell who voiced thoughts such as those. Purpose liked being close to the Avvar hunter, and he was close now, with one arm thrown over her waist and pulling her flush against his stomach. They were still naked from the night before, and it was nothing to slip a hand between their bodies and stroke his length. Abigail knew she wasn’t entirely in control, but the desire building in her body wasn’t solely because of the spirit, so she made no attempt to stop.

Finn stirred, hardened in her hand, and Abigail heard through the haze of her mind, “Good morning, my flame…”

It was wandering hands and biting teeth, heat pushed from her body into his, encouraging him to rock against her, spread her wide, push into her…

It was pleasure. It was heat. It was thinking of nothing but the feel of his body moving in hers. What she did didn’t matter, because it always felt so, so good…

She ended up on her stomach, somehow, Finn crouched over her, sucking and biting at her smooth skin. She came down from the high slowly, heart racing and cunt aching. She couldn’t believe she had ever considered leaving him. He had been there since the beginning, always at her side, helping her, fighting for her…

She moved through the rest of the morning as if at a distance, eating bites of food between packing up her things. She avoided the Inquisition’s side of the camp, and felt no regret that soon they would return to the trail and their task of destroying the last of the ice giants that had moved into the Basin, leaving her siblings behind. She was eager to returning to the hold, for this hunting and fighting to be over, at least for a little wild. The warmer months would be filled enough with travelling and destroying demons.

“Hakkon seems to have lost his grip on the world.”

Finn was at her side, his hands joining hers to close the last clasp on her pack. It still felt strange to speak as if Hakkon and Korth and all the rest were here gods… but she as supposed to be Avvar, and as Purpose reminded her time and again, it was easier to just accept their beliefs as her own.

And Purpose always knew what to say for her.

“Yes,” the words fell from her lips, and they echoed in her head as if spoken in a large chamber. “Perhaps the giants will be weakened as well.”

“If the Father wills it,” Finn agreed. He reached out and ran his hand along her back and smiled, in that way of his that only reached his eyes. “The Lady has already blessed us.”

Abigail nodded, and smiled back, but Finn was already looking away. “They are like children in these mountains.”

She focused on the Inquisition, who were slower in tearing down their own camp. Their tents were poorly waterproofed and soaked with the water dripping from trees overhead, and at least one of the soldiers had clearly not brought enough layers.

_You are better here._

“Did you talk to your kin about assisting us?”

A spark of shame shot through Abigail, but it was quickly replaced with the cool touch of nothing.

“They cannot stay.”

Finn grunted, disappointed. “What is so important that they must leave so quickly?”

Caution. Abigail felt this required caution…

“They are searching for lyrium,” her voice said, though she did not entirely want it to. “There is access to a vein not far from here.”

Finn frowned slightly. “Why do they want to see lyrium?”

“Naomi wishes to study it.”

Finn turned to watch Naomi, but he said nothing else.

 _You shouldn’t have said that,_ Abigail grumbled, her senses groggy.

 _You need his trust,_ Serenity assured her, plucking out the guilt and uncertainty growing in Abigail’s mind. Soon, she couldn’t even remember what she was worried about…

“Rwy'n deall na allwch ymuno â ni ar ein helfa.,” Finn said in Common. Abigail blinked. She was standing in the center of the clearing next to her husband, James and Naomi across from them. Abigail crossed her arms, and stared into Naomi’s bright, blue-green eyes.

 _I understand you cannot join us on our hunt._ She had never learned much of the Common tongue, but it didn’t matter, as Purpose translated softly, conveying other’s meaning.

 _No we can’t,_ came Naomi’s reply. Abigail studied her sister through a haze. She was more beautiful than she remembered, strong and vibrant, smooth skin glowing in the cold… _We must leave today if we are to reach our destination._

_It is alright, everything will go back to the way it was. Nothing has to change—_

James added something, and before Abigail could comprehend, pure rage barreled through her body. Whatever James had said Purpose did not like. Abigail spun from the swift change in mood, grasping at her own consciousness to keep from being pushed entirely away. The spirit pulled the on Fade and the magic inside of her, urging it to manifest in fire and fury…

_Kill him!_

Abigail’s entire body tensed, and she surged from where she had been hiding, pushing back against the raging spirit, grappling against its will to take her body back under control, to keep her hands from throwing flames at her brother until he was nothing more than ashes and burned flesh. Whatever he had said could not possibly warrant this reaction, did not mean he should die…

 _Stop!_ she cried, clenching her fists, gaining control and forcing Purpose back into submission, as she had done when Finn asked if her siblings could be trusted. _I’m not going to hurt them!_

 _He is not leaving!_ the spirit protested, battering itself against the very seams of Abigail’s being. _He will ruin everything!_

Abigail glared at James, some of her own anger joining Purpose’s, weakening the hold on her control. Of course he wasn’t leaving. Of course he would do exactly what she had asked him not to, thinking he was right and she was wrong. Just once she wished he would listen to her, leave her alone…

But not once did she wish him dead.

 _Stop,_ she said again, locking in her resistance to the spirit. _You will NOT hurt him._

She could feel Purpose’s displeasure coiling through her blood, but the sharp anger subsided. _He will make things more difficult._

_We can figure it out._

A growl passed through Abigail’s body like a shiver, but the spirit relented. Abigail relaxed, no longer fearing that she would lose control of herself. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart, and realized that everyone was looking at her, waiting.

She didn’t know what to do, what to say, and Purpose was sulking in the back of her mind, offering no help. Finn was staring expectantly, and James’s look made it clear he thought she was an idiot. Only Naomi seemed to realize she was struggling, and took pity on her.

“Is that ok with you?” her sister asked in English, gently, as if Abigail was something fragile. It made her want to scream.

_No! Of course it’s not ok…_

But then she would have to explain to Finn why she no longer wanted their help. So instead, she nodded. “Fine.”

She did not stay to see what else was said. She retreated to the edge of the clearing where her pack was waiting for her, and crouched on the ground, glaring at her brother as he said goodbye to his companions.

_Why couldn’t be just leave me alone...?_

She would have to talk to him again, and watch him, to make sure he didn’t let something slip to Finn or any of the other Avvar hunters about where she came from.

 _I will be here,_ Purpose soothed, stirring and curling out from where Abigail had pushed it down. _I will not let him hurt you._

Abigail relaxed somewhat, and the sharp edges of her mind softened as the spirit calmed her once more. She was not alone, she reminded herself. She would not have to face the days ahead without help.

James was arguing with the giant Qunari across the camp, pointing in Abigail’s direction. It seemed as if he had not yet told his other companions of his plans to stay behind, and for a moment, she had hope that he would be convinced to stay.

But Naomi stepped forward and offered her own arguments, and the tall man finally relented. He grumbled something to the mustached mage at his side, then barked some orders to several of the warriors loitering within earshot of the discussion. Most of them scattered to finish their packing, but one brown-skinned young man in heavy armor approached the Qunari. They exchanged a few words, and though the taller man looked displeased, he appeared to agree with whatever was said. The shorter man saluted with a fist across his chest, then ran to collect his things.

Finn had gathered the rest of his hunters together, and was waiting for James. Abigail only stood when her brother finally joined them, Naomi and the unknown armored warrior by his side. Abigail walked to Finn’s side and crossed her arms, and though she knew it was a mistake, looked at her sister.

Naomi was on the verge of tears, and it made something like grief twist in Abigail’s stomach. Or perhaps it was guilt. She knew under different circumstances, their meeting could have been different. But Abigail didn’t want to leave, and her siblings were nothing more than a threat.

“We will leave scouts, and they will be ready to guide you to our hold when you return,” Finn told Naomi. “Stone Bear Hold is grateful for the assistance you are providing, and our Thane will wish to thank all of you.”

“We look forward to meeting your Thane,” Naomi said. “And we will need to pick up my… our people as well,” she added. But her eyes were trained on Abigail, and she knew what Naomi really hoped.

That Abigail would also leave with them.

“May the Father guide your path,” Finn said, then gestured toward James and the warrior at his side. “Come, we have much ground yet to cover.”

Abigail turned, but before her steps could carry her away, toward the relative safety of her people waiting behind, Naomi stepped forward and grabbed her arm. Abigail tensed, and though she tried to pull away, Naomi’s grip was firm.

“Wait, Abigail, please,” Naomi pleaded softly. “Please, just… I want to say goodbye.”

Purpose was recoiling from her touch, from her affection, but Abigail found it more difficult to draw away. Something in her missed seeing her sister’s face, and part of her wanted the hug that Naomi wrapped her in.

“I love you,” Naomi whispered, and Abigail could hear the sobs she was holding back. “I just want you to be happy, and no matter where you are, I’m just glad to know that you’re alive.”

Abigail’s heart was heavier as she followed Finn back into the woods, melting a path through the snow ahead of them, and she wondered for the first time if she was making the right decision. But Purpose suppressed her doubt, and before the clearing disappeared behind them, Abigail had forgotten her sister, and anything she had said.

Her purpose was with the Avvar. Her place was with them.


	6. Chapter 5. Fire

She was going to die.

She had never known such pain. Her body was trying to tear her up and push her out into the cold, empty world to disintegrate. She was alive, but this pain was going to destroy her.

The fire was gone but she was still burning. She sobbed, and mustered just enough energy to roll over, relieving the pressure on her arm and side. Still, her entire body throbbed.

She shouldn’t have survived, shouldn’t still be feeling this overwhelming agony. The fire had come so fast, and she barely had time to raise her hands, crying out with every fiber of her being to _protect_ herself, to just make it through alive. She’d felt heat in her blood, and then flames surrounded her…

She could still hear her parents scream.

And then the abrupt, utter silence when they stopped.

Her mind grew hazy from the constant pain. She couldn’t move her left hand, and her shoulder and hip throbbed where they had been pressed against the rough ground. Tears leaked from her eyes, leaving trails of fire as they rolled down her cheek.

She struggled to breathe, and with every breath she felt flames being drawn into her lungs.

_I’m going to die._

She didn’t know how long she laid there, dying. It felt like hours. It felt like days. Endless moments of agony. Confusion. Grief.

There was nothing but the eerie whistling of a desiccating, cold wind. It stung the raw, oozing parts of her body and burned her throat until it was cracked and dry.

She tried to open her eyes once. But there was just green, dense fog above her head. It stung to lift her eyelids, and more tears leaked out, searing her cheeks.

And she heard her parents screaming.

She wanted it to end.

The screaming.

The pain.

But it didn’t.

She realized if she wasn’t going to die, she needed to find help.

She rolled to her stomach, screaming as her skin protested with flames, her muscles with lightning. She forced her eyes open, and choked on a sob when she saw the red, raw mess of her hand and arm. The burns were beyond blisters, her skin charred and peeled entirely away…

She lifted her head, looking for her pack. Every breath was agony. She needed water, something to whet her throat and ease the passage of air…

She could not find it. But down a slight hill was a puddle. She reached out with her right hand and grasped a rock, panting through sobs as she pulled herself forward, using one leg to push. She couldn’t rise to her knees, as her left leg was just as damaged as her arm.

She was nearly numb by the time she pulled herself to the water’s edge. She scooped water into her mouth, crying from the sting of the dirty liquid against her lips, against her cheek, down her throat. She cried because she knew her face looked like that arm…

She was out of energy. Out of options. All she could do was wait, hope that Naomi, or James, was out there… some other hiker to save her…

No one came.

She drifted, one hand still trailing in the cool water. The only part of her that felt cool, felt calm. She focused on that hand, and waited to die.

She woke with a jolt, crying as she was moved, up off the hard, sharp stones, and into the air. She opened her eyes but couldn’t see what held her, could barely feel it. Just cool, soft air, caressing her skin and stinging her burns. She rolled her head to the side and watched the dark ground passing by. Barren stones and a few scattered pools, dark swirling mist and the occasional rotting plant. No signs of a fire, or an explosion…

She saw their bodies. “No,” she croaked, reaching out and crying from the pain. “Stop…”

_They are gone._

Burned, like her, but so much more. Twisted and tormented, agony seared onto their faces, skin pulled back from their teeth in grotesque smiles…

Bile rose in her throat, and she started to wretch through her sobs. Pain wracked her body with each convulsion, and her head grew light…

 _Be still,_ a cool voice soothed. _I will help you._

It fell away. The pain. The sorrow. The images and sounds that plagued her thoughts. Everything went numb and she felt…

Nothing.

 

_\-----_

 

The pain woke her again.

Sharp and hot, she screamed as something pressed against her wounds, dragged over her burned flesh.

“Stop,” she sobbed, raising her uninjured arm to push whatever was hurting her away. “Please…”

“Olla paikallaan,” a woman’s voice soothed. She could not understand, but sensed she was being helped. “Anna minun auttaa sinua.”

She tried not to fight it when the pain returned. It was the sting of medicine, adding to the general ache of her entire body. She took deep breaths, and tried to focus on something else.

Gone was the cool embrace of her savior. Now there was just cold, digging deep into her body and chilling her bones. Her uninjured parts were numb, but that cold did nothing to ease the pain of the rest of her. She could not ignore the burn, could not forget the pain…

Could not forget her parents.

She started to cry again, remembering their faces… or what was left of them. She wondered if her siblings had met the same fate, or if they were like her, burned but still alive, struggling to hold on somewhere out along the trail…

“Where are they?” she whispered as best she could with her raw throat, attempting to open her eyes. The left side of her face didn’t respond, but she saw blurry shapes through her right, though it was too dark to really comprehend what she was seeing. “Are they ok…?”

“Hiljainen,” the voice soothed again.

Then her helper started to clean her face.

She screamed, jerking away in agony and scratching her already damaged throat. She started to go faint, but then she was touched again, and was jolted right back into the pain…

A hand gripped hers, large and warm, skin rough against her still smooth right hand. It squeezed her tight, and another gripped her shoulder.

She sobbed and gripped the hand back, struggling to breathe as the pain sent her toward panic. She braced herself for the next swipe of the cloth, forcing herself not to jerk away from the healing hands…

It took hours to clean, treat, and wrap her burns up tight. When they were done she was swaddled in what felt like furs. She was so cold, and couldn’t muster the energy to wonder about the furs through the haze of pain.

The rough hand rarely left hers, and when it did it was not for long. She felt the hand’s body settled next to hers and she blinked open her remaining good eye to see who had helped her.

It was dark, but she saw a man’s pale face. His beard and hair were cropped short, and in the dim light his eyes were deep brown.

She could barely move her lips, as the bandages covered most of her mouth. “Where is my family?” she managed to whisper.

But the man shook his head. “Dwi ddim yn deall. Ydych chi'n siarad yn Gyffredin?”

Her lip started to tremble, and tears slipped down her face. “Why don’t you speak English?”

The man was disappointed, but didn’t respond in a language she understood. She cried harder, and winced from the pain.

The man squeezed her hand and rose to an elbow. He pointed at his chest. “Finn.”

A name. It had to be. She squeezed back. “Finn.”

He nodded, then pointed to her.

She swallowed, her voice catching in her throat. “Abigail.”

 

\----- 

 

Abigail couldn’t remember the last time she was this pissed.

Her anger simmered beneath the surface of her skin, mingling with the anger Purpose still constantly emitted. It flared every time she caught sight of her brother through the trees, threatening to spill over and strike him with flames.

So she avoided him, marching at the front of the column, focusing on clearing the snow in their path, or at the back when the way ahead was bare. She could see him watching her, but she refused to look back.

She had asked him to leave her be and he had refused. He clearly wasn’t about to let her go, and she couldn’t trust him not to meddle further. At least Finn was too busy navigating them forward to talk to him. But she’d have to keep focused on them both at camp that night.

 _We can distract Finn easily enough,_ Purpose purred. Abigail’s body flushed when she saw the images Purpose brought to her mind. She was too upset to be very keen on spending another night with Finn between their furs, but she had to admit it would do the trick.

They stopped at midday to rest and eat. Abigail crouched at the edge of the group, taking large, chewy bites from a strip of dried ram. It was heavily smoked, and she savored the strong, gamey taste. She’d hated the food at first, but now, after two years, it felt familiar. Felt like home.

James sat some distance away, next to the shorter man who had come with him. Abigail watched them eating their own rations. They talked, and more than once looked in her direction. She made a point to look away, but every time she saw their eyes on her out of the corner of her own, she seethed.

“You don’t seem happy that the lowlanders came with us,” Ingrid, one of the other hunters, commented. She was crouched next to Abigail, eating her own dried ram.

“I’m not,” Abigail grumbled.

“You seemed happy to see him yesterday,” Ingrid observed.

Abigail’s nostrils flared. She _had_ been happy to see James… until she’d considered what his presence meant for her.

And before he decided to inject himself into her life.

“I was,” she told the other hunter, fiddling with the last bite of her food. “But he’s only here because he thinks I need protection.”

“Why would he want to protect you? I thought you hadn’t met him before.”

_Dammit._

_You must be careful!_

“My sister wants me protected,” Abigail corrected. “But she couldn’t. So she sent _him._ ”

Ingrid snorted. “He will see soon enough you need no protection.” Abigail took her last bite. “Surely you’re sister knows what you are capable of,” Ingrid observed. “If anything you should be protecting _her_.”

Abigail’s heart started to race. Already there were too many questions. Already she was threatened.

_It will just be worse at the hold. The Thane will question him even more. It would be better to remove him now…_

_No! We will figure it out_ without _hurting him._

_You are being foolish._

_NO._

“My body is different,” she told Ingrid. “She does not know its abilities.”

“She didn’t look very able herself,” Ingrid scoffed. “It’s a shame she was born among the lowlanders, and not her own people. Even that one walks with a limp,” she added, pointing her chin toward James.

Abigail didn’t respond. Ingrid didn’t know her sister. It did not surprise Abigail that she was not some great warrior. It wouldn’t have been like her. Not that Abigail ever expected to be a fighter herself…

But she had needed to change in this new world.

And she didn’t want to think about how things would have been different, _had_ she been ‘born’ with her siblings among this Inquisition.

Steps crunched through the snow and stopped in front of her. Abigail blinked, realizing that she had been too lost in her thoughts to notice James approaching.

“Hey Abigail,” he said in English. “Can we talk?”

Abigail glared at James, but she couldn’t outright refuse him. Ingrid was right there, and James was sure to make a scene if she tried to push him away again.

“Fine,” she nearly snarled, sending a glance toward Ingrid, and indicating with her eyes that she wanted her gone. Ingrid hesitated just a moment, and Abigail could see the questions building behind her lips. She wanted to know what James had asked. But she left without question. Sometimes, it paid to have people think she was special.

 _Get rid of him,_ Purpose begged.

_I’ll try._

James stood in front of her, awkwardly towering over her own sitting body, favoring his weak leg. Abigail wondered what had injured him so badly. “You shouldn’t speak English,” she told him. “They will start to ask questions.”

“Do you know Common?” he asked, taking Ingrid’s place at her side.

“Well enough.” When Purpose translated.

“Fine,” he said. They sat for a moment in silence, then James let out a long sigh, and rubbed the back of his neck. “Come on Abigail… you can’t stay mad at me forever.”

She could fucking try.

“I told you not to come.”

“Come on Abby… you know we couldn’t just leave you,” James said. “We haven’t seen you in years, we need to make sure you’re ok—”

“I _told_ you I’m fine,” Abigail snapped, turning to glare at her brother. “And I said you would make things worse by staying around.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Abby. We’re trying to help—“

“I’m not being ridiculous and I don’t need you babysitting me,” Abigail said, standing abruptly. “I’ve never needed you, and that’s not about to start now.”

Finn was standing and readying his things to leave, so Abigail left James and joined her husband at his side. Finn took one look at her expression and frowned, reaching for her shoulder. “What did the lowlander do?” he asked her.

_Tell him he threatened you… or that he propositioned you. Finn will drive him away…_

It was tempting, but Abigail discarded the thought. She didn’t want anyone hurt, and fierce as Finn was, there was something about James, even with his limp, that seemed just as dangerous.

“Nothing,” Abigail told him, reaching up and taking his hand from her shoulder. “I’m just thinking about the giants.”

“Do not worry,” Finn said, reaching up with his other hand and stroking her chin. “We will not reach them until tomorrow.”

She tried to smile. “I won’t.”

Finn studied her a moment longer, as if he didn’t quite believe her. But then he leaned down and kissed her lightly on the lips. “You have not been nervous before battle in over a year,” he murmured when he pulled away, and there was something like concern in his eyes.

He already noticed something was wrong. They were all noticing that she had been shaken by the arrival of her siblings.

“I am not worried,” Abigail assured him, squeezing his hand. “I’m just anxious to return to the hold.”

“As am I,” Finn agreed. He seemed to be satisfied, for now, that she was not hiding anything, and stepped away to lead them one more into the forest. Abigail followed, and resumed her dance of staying as far away from James as she could.

 

\----- 

 

They set up a sparse camp that night, putting up little more than lean-tos to protect against the worst of the wind. Abigail lit several fires and then made her way through the party, using her magic to make sure everyone was warm after the day’s march. The weather was still biting and brutal, and they couldn’t afford to lose anyone to frostbite injuries before confronting the ice giants.

The signs of the beasts had grown more obvious as they drew closer. Uprooted trees and unnaturally placed shards of ice scattered the forest, and they’d found another small settlement destroyed. At least in that case, it appeared as if the inhabitants had managed to escape.

James kept his distance at camp, and though Abigail was grateful, it confused her, considering how he’d tried to pester her all day. She was constantly aware of his movements, and she couldn’t relax after the day’s march, or slow down and talk with those among the clan. Purpose was especially on edge, pushing against the seams of her body, striving to make sure that he entered no conversation she didn’t want, that he didn’t reveal anything more than he already had.

Eventually she had to sit and eat. Typically Finn would join her, or she would sit and chat with Ingrid or some of the other hunters about the day. But Finn was too busy planning the next day’s attack, and Abigail knew she had that look on her face that told everyone else to stay away. It had taken her months to grow comfortable enough to interact with most of her Avvar clan, and even now she found it easier to play the mysterious reincarnation than talk when she didn’t want to.

Still, she had barely swallowed her first bite before someone was settling themselves at her left side. She turned, and found the man James had brought with him, staring ahead with what looked like a smirk on his face, chewing on a bar packed with grains and fruit.

“Hey,” he said when he noticed her glaring at him. He grinned and stuck out his hand. “I’m Cremisius. Cremisius Aclassi.”

 _Don’t respond,_ Purpose urged, tugging on her eyes to draw her away from Cremisius’s warm gaze. _It will only cause more trouble._

 _He will think it strange if I do not acknowledge him at least,_ Abigail thought, tugging against Purpose and extending her hand to take his. Cremisius’s grip was firm, and it lingered, until Abigail responded with her own name.

“I’m Abigail.”

“I know,” he said, grinning more broadly and dropping her hand. “James has told me a lot about you... and where you are from,” he added in a whisper, casting his eyes around in a show of making sure they weren’t’ overheard. His was an accent she could not place. Not that she had much experience with accents beyond those of the Avvar.

Abigail’s heart started to race. If Krem also knew the truth, he was one more person she would have to watch. “Of course he has,” Abigail grumbled. She took another bite of her food and chewed angrily.

“Nothing bad, I promise.” This Cremisius was far too cheerful, Abigail thought. Purpose agreed.

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Well, I only remember the good things,” Cremisius said with a chuckle.

She could feel him staring at her, examining her scars. She tried not to look back, but she squirmed under his gaze. When she turned her eyes toward his, she found him looking back into her own, his lips still turned up with a small smirk.

Purpose bristled at the sight.

“Why are you here, Cremisius Aclassi?” Abigail asked, though it was Purpose forming the words. This man had no reason to follow her brother on this mission, or to come and talk to her. Clearly, he wanted something, and Abigail was too fatigued to try and talk to him alone.

“Call me Krem,” he said in response. Abigail stared him down, waiting for a more satisfying answer. His smug little grin finally started to crumble under her intense gaze. “I wanted to introduce myself,” he said. “And you looked lonely over here.”

“I’m not alone,” Abigail replied. “And why are you _here,_ on this hunt?”

He had not once looked away from her face, and Abigail didn’t know what to make of his stare. His eyes were a soft brown, and she found herself drawn into their color, despite the roiling mistrust of Purpose just under her skin.

“Naomi and James are my friends,” he finally said, still looking into her eyes. “I wanted to help them.”

“I don’t need James’s protection, and I certainly don’t need yours.”

Krem laughed, suddenly and brightly, and Abigail was startled by its cheerfulness and spark. “I’m here to keep an eye on _him,_ not you,” he said. His cheeks flushed a little red, and for the first time his eyes dropped to her scars. Then he looked away and cleared his throat. “Anyone who has survived what you have, alone, is clearly strong enough to handle herself,” he added quietly, and returned to eating.

Abigail didn’t know what to say. She didn’t need this man’s approval or pity. Still, it wasn’t what she, or Purpose, had expected him to say.

_Perhaps he can convince James to leave._

“You should tell James that,” Abigail said. “And then you can go back to protecting my sister.”

Krem’s eyes once more found hers. “He wouldn’t leave, even if I convinced him of that,” he said. “He’s not just here to make sure you are alright.”

“Oh?” Abigail asked, any affection she or Purpose had gained toward the man lost now that it was clear he was only there to help her brother. “And what other reason could he possibly have for treating me like a child?”

Krem frowned slightly. “You haven’t seen each other in years… It’s possible he just wants to spend time with you, get to know you again.”

Abigail’s nostrils flared, and Purpose put up even more defenses against the man. “He had no interest in me before.”

Krem’s gaze was soft, unruffled compared to her own rising anger. “Well, he’s changed in a lot of ways since then. You should give him a chance.”

Abigail scoffed and looked away from his frustratingly calm expression. He was right about one thing only; she had survived on her own, and therefore did not need her brother’s protection, or his friendship, or whatever else he wanted from her…

She swept her eyes over the camp, looking for James.

And found him sitting next to Finn.

She rose to her feet and snarled down at Krem. “Is this why you came to talk to me?” she accused, throwing her uneaten food into the snow at his feet. “So you could distract me while my brother talks to my husband?”

Krem frowned, and rose to his own feet. “Abigail, no, that’s not—“

But she didn’t stay to find out what excuse he would spit out, and stormed across the camp. Abigail grappled for control of her body, but Purpose had sunk in its will and propelled her forward with fury and fire.

 _Don’t hurt him,_ Abigail pleaded, though it was difficult to soothe Purpose when her own emotions seethed with anger.

 _I won’t,_ Purpose promised, but Abigail still flittered on edge around the fringes of her consciousness, ready to pull the spirit back should it react rashly.

Purpose settled their body on the other side of Finn’s, curling her lips into a smile when the hunter glanced up at her arrival. She placed a hand on his knee and he smiled back, though his gaze turned back to James. “James has been telling me of his deeds with the Inquisition,” Finn said. “He defeated many foes as they worked to destroy the one who tore open the Sky. He even destroyed a dragon consumed with the Taint!”

“Hey, I wasn’t the only one who brought that thing down,” James replied, rubbing a hand through his beard. “And it didn’t leave me unscathed, that’s for sure.”

_So that explains the limp…_

“I’m sure it’s fascinating,” Abigail said sweetly, and James blinked in surprise. Her hand wandered up Finn’s leg, trailing down and around as she moved further up. Finn’s eyes were drawn from James back to Abigail, and Purpose pressed her body against his. “But I was hoping to have some time to… talk with you Finn. Alone.” Her hand reached his crotch and stroked him gently through his leather breeches. He wouldn’t be able to feel much through his layers, but it was enough.

Finn’s lips pulled back in a wicked grin, and he wrapped his arm around her waist. “I thought you wanted to wait until we returned to our bed at the hold,” he murmured, lifting his hand to cup her breast through her coat.

“I changed my mind,” Purpose purred, squeezing him again. Abigail’s body was flushing, and she found it more difficult to focus.

“I’m afraid we will have to finish this discussion another time,” Finn announced, rising to his feet. Abigail saw James’s eyes drop to the placement of their hands before they moved them to their sides, and frown. “My wife has needs that need tending.”

Abigail didn’t hear the response that James managed to make, as Purpose secured its hold on her mind and body, and dragged Finn to their tent.

 

\----- 

 

The next day’s march was more tense than the first, as they approached the end of the giant’s trail. Finn led them to the mouth of a deep valley. They were close enough that the three sets of giant’s tracks were still sharp and defined in the snow. The much smaller tracks of rams were scattered between the giant’s, leading them into the valley.

“They’re all here,” she whispered to Finn. He nodded, and ran his hand over the scruff that was growing in thick on his jaw.

“They must be hunting the rams,” he said. “They will be trapped in the valley. This is our chance.” He turned to Abigail and nodded. “Time to prepare. I saw a river bank not far back that should have the clay we need.”

Abigail hurried toward the back of the column as Finn spread the word through the group. She was followed to the river’s edge, where packs and parkas were discarded under a towering fir. Abigail walked along the bank until she found the spot Finn had mentioned. With a wave of her hands, and a push of magic aided by Purpose, the snow and ice melted away, and then the top few feet of soil as well. Steam rose from the bank as her heat permeated the frozen clay, turning it into a soft, spreadable gray ooze.

She returned to her pack and dug around an outer pocket until she found the pouches of pigments stored inside. She took the pouch closed with a bright red string, then stood and removed her gloves, parka, and layers of tunics underneath. Thick furs and leathers were too restricting for fighting, and clothing would only hide the prayer markings painted on their skin.

Bare from the waist up, Abigail took a deep, bracing breath and willed fire through her veins. The near-freezing air prickled at her skin, but she did not shiver. The Avvar hunters around her had stripped as she, freeing their arms and torsos for maneuverability. Then they circled the sloppy, unthawed bank, taking handfuls of clay and spreading it over their exposed skin.

Abigail stood near the river and bent down to take her own scoops of clay, sending out magic every few moments to keep the ground thawed and warm. Finn crouched at her side, spreading clay over his chest and stomach with his large hands. He turned his back to her and she covered what he could not reach, then proceeded to cover herself. With every stroke she covered the scars marring her body, replacing red, marbled skin with gray clay.

Like this, she looked no different than the others around her.

She looked away from the clay pit only once, while Finn was running his hands over her back to finish her covering. She caught sight of James and Krem watching them work. James was bright red, looking but not really seeing. Krem, however, was staring at her. Abigail stared back, and when he realized she had caught him, turned and walked away.

Neither of them had seen just how injured she had been. If Krem thought she was strong before, surely he saw now just how little she needed them.

She covered her face last, smearing clay thickly over her damaged skin. She worked it into her braid, ensuring that no strands would come loose during the battle.

But they were not done.

She separated a puddle of clay and dumped the contents of the pouch she had selected into it. She mixed the puddle, swirling and turning the goo until it was a deep, dark red. Then she took a deep breath and stood, facing the hunting party that had gathered around her. Finn stood in front of her, watching expectantly.

From the beginning, they had expected things from her.

And she had done them.

Purpose crawled into her mind and soothed the panic that started to rise in her throat. _I am here…_ Always there. Always ready to take over and show her what must be done, show her what she needed to do to keep these people’s trust…

She recited prayers, invocations to Korth and to Hakkon, asking them for protection and their blessing. She didn’t understand the words, spoken in a dialect that the Avvar didn’t even entirely understand…

Her hands moved over her body, painting symbols and patterns into the gray clay, turning the simple mud into something more, into armor that would protect her body and soul in the coming battle.

Last were a series of marks on her face, swirling and circling. The symbol of the Lady, so her soul would be taken into her embrace should she fall in battle.

She believed none of it. But the Avvar could not know that.

When she was finished she sent a wave of warmth through the muck covering her body, driving away the remaining moisture and leaving the dry, hard clay clinging to her skin. It cracked when she moved, but did not fall away.

The rest of the hunting party came and collected some of the red clay, whispering to themselves personal prayers as they painted their own skin. Everyone’s symbols were unique, but they all came to Abigail to have their faces painted, accepting her whispered blessing and flush of warmth to harden the clay.

Finn was last, and her fingers lingered as she traced the lines of his face. She was always nervous before a battle, but Purpose stroked her nerves until they were calmed.

_I will protect you._

But she was not finished after Finn, as Krem stepped up to take his place, with James just a few paces behind.

“I want you to bless the lowlanders,” Finn murmured. “I will take no chances with this fight.”

An argument bubbled to the top of Abigail’s throat, but though Purpose was not pleased, it could see no grounds to deny Finn his request. So she turned to Krem and placed the marks on his face, reciting the prayers. He was slightly shorter than her, and she was unnerved by the way is eyes looking up at her were almost filled with… awe. She received enough of that from the Avvar, she needed none from him.

James’s expression was pure discomfort, and she could see him purposefully keeping his eyes far away from her exposed chest. His prudishness almost made her smile.

When she was finished with his marks, she turned quickly away and made to join the others as they strapped on weapons and lifted the rest of their supplies up into the trees. But James grabbed her shoulder and swung her around, finally looking into her eyes.

“Why didn’t you tell us you were married?” he said, anger making the green in his eyes glint.

Abigail pulled herself away. “It wasn’t relevant,” she snapped. Now was not the time to be arguing about this. Her mind was already miles ahead, with the giants they were about to attack.

“The fuck it wasn’t,” James argued. “It makes sense you want to stay if you’re married—”

“What? I can’t want to stay on my own?”

“That’s not what I meant—“

“Then what?” When he paused, fishing for an answer, Abigail laughed. “Fuck off, James.”

“Abby—“

“No!” she cried, rounding on him and pressing a finger into his chest. She glared up at him, pleased that he backed away several feet to distance his body from hers. “Now is not the time to talk about this,” she growled. “You came along to help with this hunt, so focus on _that_ and worry less about me.”

“She’s right,” Krem’s voice added. Abigail spun to find him leaning on his giant war hammer. “You can talk about that later.”

“Or not at all,” Abigail spat. She shot a final glare toward James, then continued on to join Finn. Her husband gave her a questioning look. “It’s nothing,” she assured him, trying to put a more pleasant look on her face. “We should get moving.”

The urgency of their mission took over and Finn returned to explaining his plan to the others. Suggestions were made and revisions agreed upon. Once the plan was set, they moved on.

Abigail remembered little of the journey forward. It was just wet, trampled snow and icy air, following Finn until the trees started to clear. Then it was weaving through large boulders and keeping her footing on rubble fields and scree slopes. The giants had chased the rams nearly to the top of the valley, and Abigail sent a constant stream of heat through the party, warding them against the increasingly freezing winds.

Finally, they heard the giants. Their roars bounced off the rising valley walls, and pebbles and stones skipped down to their feet as thunderous footsteps reverberated through the earth. In all their work clearing the basin of giants, they had yet to face three at once. Abigail swallowed, and tried to keep her stomach from flipping back and forth.

She had never quite taken to battle, and more and more Purpose moved her steps forward and kept her nerves from showing on her expression.

They reached the end of the valley, and the giants. The monsters were distracted by the rams, as they’d suspected. The horned animals had managed to climb up the rocks out of reach of the giants, but that had not stopped the giants. They picked up boulders and threw them up the side of the mountains around them, and pulled ice from between the stones. Already they had managed to kill three rams, and showed no signs of stopping.

It gave the hunters the perfect distraction. Finn motioned everyone to spread out and break into two smaller groups so they could engage the giants in tandem. Finn led one party around the left mountainside. Krem nearly dragged James away from her toward the right.

Abigail waited in the center of the valley, watching Finn’s figure scramble into place. Purpose felt like it was going to jump from her skin. The spirit was antsy, ready to fight. It had always enjoyed battle more than her.

That’s why, when Finn waved his hand, signaling her to begin, she receded into her mind. Her body rose from its crouch and walked toward the center giant, but the world around her grew distant, clouded. She drew into herself, where Purpose nearly vibrated with anticipation as it spread into her limbs.

When the nearest giant caught sight of her, and turned its gnarled and ugly face away from the rams climbing further out of reach, she raised a single hand.

And let go.

 

* * *

 

 She was going to get herself killed.

It’s all James could think as he watched Abigail approaching the giants alone. She was going to die, and he would have to watch…

Except he didn’t think Finn would send his wife toward danger without some sort of assurance that she would come through the other side. And Krem said something similar, confident that Abigail must be capable of defending herself.

James knew she must be able to as well. She certainly seemed fitter than she had been on Earth, and he believed her, to an extent, when she insisted again and again that she didn’t need his, or anyone’s protection.

But none of that really mattered as he watched her facing this danger alone. Not even he was so reckless.

And then she raised her hands.

And the valley erupted in fire.

James winced at the sudden flash of light and heat, transported for a moment to that day back in Canada when this whole ordeal had begun. But this fire wasn’t out of control or expanding. It was contained, directed, and he realized that Abigail had separated the three giants from each other with two walls of flames, brought up from the stones with a single gesture.

His mouth dropped open as he watched her. Without a staff, and with no visible signs of fatigue, she had called up massive amounts of fire. And she wasn’t just holding the giants in their individual compartments. She was fighting herself, using her other hand to hurl streams of fire at the center giant. Its screams of pain filled the valley, joining the roars of confusion from its companions.

He felt a tug on his arm, and Krem pulled him from his spectating to the battle at hand. The Avvar hunters were already moving, scrambling down the rocky slope to attack their own giant. Arrows flew over their heads, peppering the giant’s hide. Though giving little damage, the onslaught kept its attention long enough for them to run over the ground and reach its legs, where they began hacking and slicing with everything they had.

It was otherwise a standard fight. Giants weren’t particularly bright, and this one was panicked by the flames licking at its back, its ability to draw forth ice weakened by the fire’s presence. James and the others concentrated their attention on its heels, cutting through until it was crippled, toppled to its knees as blood stained the stones under their feet…

Sweat streamed down James’s face as he fought on the front line, drawing the giant’s fists toward him. He blocked punch after punch, redirecting the blows into the ground. The giant groaned and heaved, striving with everything that it had to keep from falling.

The wall of fire disappeared suddenly, and James risked a glance to make sure Abigail hadn’t been injured. But instead, he saw the middle giant prostrate on the ground, its skin raw and smoking. It still breathed, but just barely, and soon it would be gone.

Abigail had not moved, and for one brief moment, his eyes met hers. They shone with green fire.

And then he was flying, knocked off his feet by the giant. He landed heavily, striking his head on a sharp rock. Hot blood streamed down his face and stung his eye, but after a moment the dizziness ringing through his head quieted, and the bleeding stopped. He wiped his face and looked back to Abigail.

She was still in her spot, still watching him. James stood and picked up his sword. Abigail turned and jogged to help bring down the third giant, which was still on its feet.

She had to be far more refined, now that the area was swarming with her own people. But she had just as much precision with her magic as she had raw power. James was tempted to keep watching her, but a squeal of pain reminded him of what was left for him to do.

The giant finally fell to the attack, and once it was on the ground it took very little to strike a blow to its head that brought an end to the battle.

Finn’s giant didn’t last much longer, and when the battle was finally, totally done, James sought his sister again.

Sweat had run down her body from the effort, leaving trails of paler skin through the cracked clay, as it had on all the Avvar. But she otherwise appeared unscathed. Where other mages would be guzzling lyrium potions or collapsed with exhaustion after such a display of magic, Abigail was standing, her breathing hardly elevated. It was as if the fight had been nothing more than a light jog, or even a walk on a hot day.

It didn’t make sense. It was one thing for Abigail to be a mage, but to be this powerful…

It was clear she had been right all along. She was more than capable of handling herself.

 

\-----

 

The journey back down the valley was entirely different than the walk up. No longer were the hunters quiet and careful, watching their every step so as not to topple a rock and tip the giants off to their presence. Now they were joyous, laughing and talking and retelling their half of the battle to their friends who had been fighting on the other side. Though there were several minor injuries among them, no one had been killed. It was an entirely successful battle.

Because of Abigail. Everything had been easier because she was there. She had separated the giants, and taken one down on her own. James couldn’t understand how his sister had become so powerful, but he couldn’t argue with the evidence right in front of him.

And he understood now why the hunters had looked to her before the battle, trusted in her to provide prayers and protection… though he couldn’t understand why she agreed to do it at all. This Avvar faith was not their own.

The Avvar hunters all ran to the river when they reached the mouth of the valley. James and Krem followed, and used the water Abigail heated to wash the red clay from their faces. Everyone else stripped and submerged themselves in the warm water, washing away clay and blood.

The Avvar were certainly more comfortable with their bodies, James had noticed. First there was the ritual of donning the clay in the first place, serious and ritualistic. Now they removed it with abandon, splashing and playing in the water. Nudity did nothing to phase them, and though some among the hunters were more clearly partners in a sense, and briefly touched and fondled each other, for the most part their own nakedness seemed if not unnoticed, at least as nothing of consequence.

James didn’t stay by the river long, far less comfortable with the communal bathing. Krem didn’t stay either, and joined him in releasing their bags from the trees.

“That… was something,” Krem noted as he worked, and James could hear the awe tinging his voice. “I’ve never taken a single giant down so easily, not to mention three.”

“Tell me about it,” James agreed, untying a knot that released a bundle of packs. “I’ve… never seen a mage do something like that.”

“Maybe she’s fade-touched,” Krem said, dragging his things out from among the others. “Her eyes look like it at least, and it might explain why she’s so... powerful.” That was definitely awe.

James had noticed her eyes, but in all their fights hadn’t thought to ask her about them. “Maybe,” he agreed. “I’m not really sure how else she could do something like that.”

“Or,” Krem continued. “She’s just as capable as she’s been saying.”

“Yeah…” James hedged. It was possible, but it wasn’t exactly what he expected from his artistic, often scatter-brained sister.

But he supposed it didn’t really matter how Abigail had grown so powerful. He had misjudged her, and he could understand even more clearly why she had been so angry with him lately. He _had_ been doubting her since the moment they found her.

Though it did not explain why she hadn’t mentioned _once_ before she was literally dragging her husband off to have sex that she was _married._

The hunters started to trickle up from the river, donning tunics and parkas once more. James didn’t know how they had been able to stand the cold for so long. Not that it had seemed to affect their ability to fight.

James noticed when Finn returned that he had been injured in the fight. A large slash crossed his chest, where a giant’s claw had gotten too close. He could see that the man moved with pained effort, and James knew the wound would fester if it was not treated soon. Unfortunately, the only mage with any healing abilities was young and inexperienced, and barely managed to stop the bleeding before she was exhausted. James watched another hunter make a poultice and cover Finn’s wound. He hoped they weren’t far from their hold, or from someone with more healing prowess.

Abigail appeared last from the river. She had donned a breastband, but James could clearly see the scars that extended down her arm, chest, and waist. They did not end at her hip, and he guess that they covered most of her leg as well.

She had been so much more injured than he’d realized, and his gut twisted thinking of how much pain she had endured. Just one more demonstration of her strength…

He’d been a fool, he realized, thinking her incapable. He should have listened from the beginning, believed her when she said she _didn’t need him._

And he was losing her because of it. Naomi had wanted him to find out how she had been living, to make sure that she was going to be alright staying with the Avvar hold who had taken her in. She’d also told him not to fight with her. He could almost hear Naomi scolding him for failing at the fighting bit, but he had still learned plenty about Abigail’s life.

Like it or not… he could see she had a place here. There was no way he was going to convince her to leave.

He stood and approached her before she could disappear on him again. She still needed to know he was sorry, so they could begin to repair their relationship.

“Hey Abigail,” he said softly.

She turned toward him with the same, angry glare she had been using for the past three days. The green circling her pupils was especially bright and disarming.

“What,” she said flatly.

Even though he recognized his own failings, her tone rankled him. “I’m just here to see how you are—“

“Checking up on me again?” she asked, lips curling back in a sneer. “Didn’t that battle teach you anything?”

James pushed down the sharp retort that sprang to his mind. If he was going to repair whatever had been broken, it needed to happen now. “No, that’s not… I’m sorry, Abigail,” he admitted. “I see now you are safe here… or as safe as you can be.”

Her glare didn’t waver. “You should have believed me from the start,” she said coldly.

“Well I’m realizing it now,” James said, grinding his teeth slightly. He couldn’t remember Abigail ever being this confrontational. He tried to remember what Naomi and Krem had both been saying, that she had likely changed…

Abigail shook her head and crossed her arms. “You’ve always treated me like a child,” she said. “You’ve always thought you were smarter than me, more experienced. Do you remember what you said a few years ago? That I was nothing but pretty?”

He didn’t. But part of him didn’t doubt it was something he had said. “No,” he told her.

She rolled her eyes. “Of course you don’t… why would you remember anything about me?” She laughed softly and closed her eyes. “Well it doesn’t matter now. You were wrong. About everything.”

She made to walk away, but James couldn’t let her leave like that. “I’m trying to apologize Abigail,” he said sharply, stepping in front of her path. “I was wrong, and I’m sorry I tried to make you come back with us… I can see that this is your home, and if that’s what you want, then I won’t stop you. I just… I don’t want you to be angry with me anymore. And you shouldn’t be angry with Naomi.”

Her look had hardly changed, still emitted cold indifference. “You should have realized that from the beginning.”

“Well, I didn’t,” James growled. “And I can’t take that back. But I’m sorry.”

She stared at him for a silent moment, eyes boring into his. He couldn’t hold her stare, and kept finding his eyes drawn to the scarred portions of her face, or the burns extending down her neck and shoulder…

“If you were truly sorry, you would leave now,” she finally said. “Take your companion and return to Naomi, and let me return to my hold, alone.”

She slipped around him and hurried away, toward Finn whose wounds were still being tended. James watched her leave, gritting his teeth.

He could understand her anger. Hell, they had been arguing with each other for as long as he could remember. But that had never festered into resentment. Something, whether their familial bond or some other deep seated affection for each other, kept true hatred from forming. But now…

It did not make sense for her to completely disregard his apology, to ignore how he admitted to his own faults. She might not forgive everything, but a way forward should have been cleared.

He hadn’t had any intention of leaving before seeing her home, but now he was even more determined. He knew it would just make her angrier… but despite everything he had seen, their latest interaction left a knot in his gut. He couldn’t shake the feeling that _something_ was still wrong.

And he couldn’t leave without trying harder. The thought of Naomi’s disappointment was enough to make that decision for him.

Though, he considered, Naomi was the one who should have been there from the start.


	7. Chapter 6. Lethallin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. It's been over a month. I'm so sorry. The words would not come.

Cullen really, really hated dealing with nobles.

He’d said it before and he’d say it again. Especially Orlesian nobles. There was something so unsettling about their masks, their voices carrying from mouthless and expressionless faces. He’d heard Josephine’s lecture again and again about how the masks were a long-standing tradition marking social status and representing a façade the nobles could use to protect their true selves… he didn’t care. It was exhausting to keep track of everything, trying to read anything anyone said or did.

His current migraine and aching body didn’t make anything easier. He would have stayed in his office for the rest of the afternoon if he could, nursing Naomi’s last potion and avoiding everyone.

At least the woman sitting across from him was wearing a mask that exposed her mouth. The Marquise Hedinelle still needed some way to nibble on cakes and sip the tea they were consuming. Nevertheless, her lips were brightly painted, and her chin was heavily powdered, as if she couldn’t stand to let an inch of her natural skin show, even when having an informal tea. Cullen didn’t normally have an issue with make-up, but he felt the Orlesian’s took the fascination to an extreme, especially when the noble had asked Nassella when they had first sat down what she used to cover her tattoos.

Nassella had blinked at the woman, her already large eyes growing even larger as she processed the question. She was wearing dark lines of kohl around her eyes, but Cullen knew that was the only paint adorning her face.

The tips of her ears had turned bright red by the time she answered. “I am not covering anything,” she’d said, and there was a wobble in her voice. Whether it was anger or something else, Cullen couldn’t really tell.

“Oh?” The Marquise had asked, not seeming to recognize Nassella’s discomfort, or, more likely, not caring. “I was sure ze Dalish marked their faces with tattoos. Such a barbaric practice, but… could I have been mistaken?”

The red had travelled to Nassella’s face. “You were not mistaken,” she said, and it was definitely anger that had steadied her voice. “We proudly receive our vallaslin when we come of age.”

“Let’s sit and have our tea,” Josephine had interrupted at that point, moving the conversation away from Nassella’s missing vallaslin and toward the reason they had gathered in the first place. The Marquise had been successfully distracted, and Josephine had taken over from there, describing the delicacies they would be enjoying that afternoon in intricate detail, praising the chefs and bakers of Skyhold for their ability to work around the Marquise’s various dietary allergies. It left the food rather bland, in Cullen’s opinion.

Nassella had glared after the Marquise for another moment, though Cullen sensed her turmoil had turned inward. He had caught her eye and rolled his own, letting her know that he found the Marquise’s behavior just as rude. Nassella had nodded and set her shoulders, turning deliberately toward the table to join the other women sitting there. But her fingers had trailed briefly over her chin, tracing the lines where purple branches once spread.

The tea had been long and uncomfortable since then, as Cullen had little to contribute as the Marquise babbled on about Orlesian society, referring to nobles across the continent that Cullen had never heard of. Josephine carried the conversation, tactfully responding to the Marquise’s comments and dropping hints to Cullen and Nassella so they could chime in every now and then. Nassella had hidden the most of her anger, and though Cullen could tell she was still tense, to anyone who knew her less she surely seemed calm and charming.

Eventually, they had suffered through enough idle conversation, and the Marquise finally brought up what she had wanted to talk about from the start.

“Ze aid you sent to ze Orlesian countryside has been noticed,” Hedinelle commented between sips of the unsweetened, somewhat bland, slightly floral tea Josephine had arranged to be served. “It is all ze talk in Val Royeaux.”

“Is it?” Nassella asked, putting down the flourless pastry she was nibbling on. “It is good that those in the capital are aware of the struggles many in Orlais still suffer from after the war.”

“Oh indeed,” Hedinelle agreed. “It is a testament to the power of the Inquisition, zat they have such resources to spare for these remote and… rustic reaches.” Nassella blinked, and Cullen could see the strain that tightened her lips into an even thinner line. He also heard the unspoken words behind the Marquise’s statement; those who suffered in southern Orlais did not deserve their aid, at least according to the nobles that the Marquise represented.

“It is where the brunt of the battles were fought,” Cullen said. “Our aid would be flowing to Val Roxeaux if the city had sustained any significant damage.” Their aid wouldn’t be flowing at all, if the Empress and her co-rulers would rule their own country.

Hedinelle’s lips twitched. “Indeed.” She took another sip from her cup then lowered it. “Still, many wonder if ze Inquisition would be willing to help all in Orlais?”

“Surely stabilizing the south of the country does benefit all of Orlais,” Josephine suggested. “Even those in the capital.”

“Oh yes, it certainly will,” Hedinelle agreed with a small laugh. “But perhaps ze Inquisition would consider something zat would more… directly benefit those in ze north, while you are being so generous?”

Cullen resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Only Orlesians would see unsolicited aid being given to their countrymen and still feel slighted, and want even more. As if they were in any position to ask for additional resources.

“What did you have in mind?” Nassella asked, her voice deceptively sweet. Cullen glanced at her, and almost choked on a laugh. She was smiling, but she had a look in her eyes that he had only seen when she was facing demons in battle.

Hedinelle did not notice the Inquisitor’s murderous gaze. She clapped her hands together and leaned forward excitedly. “My dear friend, ze Duchess Nicole de Val Montaigne, has brought to my attention a most dire situation in Emprise du Lion. It seems that Judicael’s Crossing was destroyed during ze recent conflict. It is a marvelous feat of Orlesian engineering, and she was hoping that ze Inquisition would consider restoring the bridge as part of their efforts in the region.”

A bridge. The woman wanted a _bridge_ restored. Cullen knew the crossing she spoke of. Nassella had encountered it while first freeing Emprise du Lion from the grip of the red Templars. They had constructed a wooden platform to bridge the gap and reach the other side. Any further reconstruction was deemed unnecessary.

It was still unnecessary. Especially considering the clearly more important needs of the people there, such as rebuilding their homes and ensuring they had enough food and supplies to last the winter.

“If I recall,” Nassella said, still in that sweet voice of hers, “Judicael’s Crossing offers no strategic advantage. It has been out of use as a practical route for centuries.”

“But it is of extreme historical importance,” Hedinelle persisted. “It simply cannot be lost to the horrors of zis war. Ze Duchess will not have it!”

“I feel the same about the people who are still suffering because of it,” Nassella said. She folded her hands in her lap and glared at the woman sitting across from her. “I’m sure the Duchess can do without the bridge until the common people are no longer starving.”

The Marquise Hedinelle continued to smile, but even with her mask Cullen could see the effort she was putting forth to keep it there. Nassella’s abrupt refusal had clearly not been taken well.

“I believe the Inquisitor is simply saying that our focus must be on those whose lives are currently in danger,” Josephine interjected. “For the time being. I’m sure we can revisit this request once the winter has passed.”

“Of course,” Hedinelle said tersely, slipping her gaze to Josephine. “Winter is such poor weather for construction anyway.”

They lapsed into an awkward silence, and Cullen reached for his cup, now filled with cold tea. He tried to take a sip of the tepid liquid, controlling his grimace when the bitter liquid fell onto his tongue. He just wanted this meeting to end, so he could return to his office and suffer in peace…

“I believe congratulations are in order,” Hedinelle commented suddenly, her eyes now fixed on Cullen.

“Um,” Cullen choked, lowering his cup and licking at his lips to keep tea from dribbling down his chin. “I… I’m…”

“Many hearts were broken when word of your engagement reached ze capital,” Hedinelle continued. “Most believed you would eventually choose an advantageous match from among ze eligible women in Orlais, or even from Ferelden or ze Free Marches. Imagine the shock when it was learned you intend to marry a _commoner._ ” She turned toward Nassella and leaned forward conspiratorially. “I was certain you would come to me eventually in help negotiating a suitable match.”

Nassella blinked several times, and took a deep breath. “Commander Cullen has made a suitable match on his own,” she said.

“Hmph,” Hedinelle said, leaning back in her chair, put out. “I suppose love matches are quite _vogue_ zese days.” Then she turned to Cullen. “Do know I will be of any help I can if you change your mind.”

Cullen was burning. “I won’t,” he said brusquely. _The nerve of this woman…_

This was exactly why he had wanted to keep his engagement quiet. He received enough requests for marriage as it was. He didn’t need even more desperate proposals.

The tea lasted little longer, now that Hedinelle’s ridiculous request had been aired, and her even more ridiculous offer refused. After a few more minutes of idle chatter, Hedinelle made her excuses and took her leave, sweeping from the room with a puff of fruity perfume and superiority.

Nassella slumped in her chair the moment they were alone and tossed her flavorless pastry back on the tray. “Well that was fucking wonderful,” she muttered, rubbing at her temples. “People are still _dying_ because Celene can’t bring herself to feed her people, and the nobility have the nerve to ask us to restore a _bridge?_ Unbelievable.”

“What else would you expect?” Cullen asked, rubbing his own head. “The Orlesian nobility’s grasp on reality is comically thin.”

“Yes, but you could be more polite with your refusal, Nassella,” Josephine said wearily. “We cannot afford to raise the nobility’s ire in this matter.”

“What are they going to do?” Nassella asked. “Leliana has secrets filed away about half of the Orlesian nobility, and if the empress can’t afford to fund the restoration of a bridge, I’m certain she can’t fund any sort of retaliation.”

“We must maintain good relations. This sort of slight will likely be remembered.”

“Doubtful,” Cullen muttered. “Next week they will be fretting over some… some fashion mistake, or the most recent murder, or one of the dozens of other things they gossip about.”

Josephine’s glare was withering. “You do not give the Orlesian court enough credit, Cullen, and you certainly underestimate their ability to hold a grudge.”

“I’m not going to direct resources to repair a bridge, Josephine,” Nassella said with finality. “We will simply deal with any fallout when it arises.”

“Of course we cannot fund this endeavor,” Josephine agreed, as if she hadn’t just been arguing for the proposal a moment before. “I am simply suggesting that we… at least give the impression that we have taken these requests into thoughtful consideration before turning them down.”

Nassella rolled her eyes and let out a long sigh, but in the end she nodded. “Fine. Tell the Marquise what you must to appease her.” She stood and rolled her shoulders. “Are we done here?”

“Yes, yes,” Josephine said, waving her hand and pulling out her ledger from somewhere beneath the table, and started to scribble out her notes. “I believe that is all for the day.”

Cullen followed Nassella from the room, exiting into a drafty, candlelit hallway. Nassella slowed to join Cullen’s step, and followed him toward the main hall.

“Poor Josephine,” she said. “Without Leliana here, she’s the only one left to guide us through these noble encounters.”

Cullen hadn’t really considered that particular aspect of Leliana’s departure. He had been more concerned with the adjustments that now needed to be made to their spy networks and the collection of intel and secrets across the continent, as well as getting Charter up to speed.

But… dealing with nobles was important as well.

“I suppose we could try a little harder,” Cullen suggested as he opened the door into the main hall for Nassella. “Only to make her job easier, of course.”

Nassella laughed as she walked ahead of him. She was so much more at ease, now that they were out from under the watchful gaze of the Marquise Hedinelle. It seemed as if the uncomfortable tea, all beginning with the comments about her missing vallaslin, had not permanently dampened her mood.

Cullen still didn’t know how she had lost her tattoos. All he knew was that she had been led to the Emerald Graves by Morrigan and returned without them. He suspected it had something to do with Solas, considering that the two elves had avoided each other after that trip. But curious as he was, he had never felt it the right time to ask, and after that tea, he doubted there would ever be one.

They were about to part ways, Cullen back to his office and Nassella to… somewhere, he wasn’t sure, when Charter called out for the Inquisitor. Cullen turned back to listen to the red-haired elf give her report.

“Inquisitor, there is someone at the gate insisting he see you,” Charter said with a salute. “He says that he knows you, but refuses to give his name, and appears to have no other business in Skyhold.”

Nassella crossed her arms and frowned. “That’s strange… surely you could get the information out of him with some prodding.”

“Well, yes,” Charter agreed. “But that would take time, and in this case… I believed it would be quicker for you to identify him yourself.”

“And why do you think I would know this man?”

“He’s Dalish, your Worship,” Charter said.

Nassella cleared her throat. “I do not know every Dalish elf in Thedas.”

“Of course not,” Charter agreed. “But his accent is very similar to yours, so I thought, perhaps, there was a chance.”

Nassella rubbed her chin, subconsciously tracing her missing vallaslin again. “Fine Charter… I will see this man.”

“I’ll come as well,” Cullen chipped in, following the women as they crossed the Great Hall. “Who initially questioned this man?” he asked Charter.

“Pieterson, ser,” Charter replied. “Almost let him in too, on account of his vallaslin. Assumed the Inquisitor would know him.”

Cullen gripped his sword, steadying the weapon as he descended the stairs to the upper courtyard. “I’ll have a word with the gatekeepers,” he said. “We must ensure those coming and going within the walls are accounted for. Assumptions cannot be made”

“What did this man look like?” Nassella asked as they reached the second set of stairs. Cullen squinted slightly as they turned into the wind. Though the magic of Skyhold tempered the biting cold somewhat, it did not entirely reduce its sting.

“Dark,” Charter said, leading them across the lower courtyard. “With dark, almost… sad eyes, and pale vallaslin. Andruil’s I believe.” Nassella glanced sharply at Charter after hearing that, and picked up her pace. She was nearly running by the time she reached the gate, and Cullen was several steps behind.

He found Nassella frozen, staring where an elf was standing, surrounded by armed and armored soldiers. His eyes _were_ somewhat weary, Cullen thought on seeing him, deep set and turned down. His dark chestnut skin was a little ashen from the cold, and marked with pale, sharp lines of vallaslin. His pointed ears stuck out from his head, made even more prominent by the shaved portions of his head, and the tight bun that the rest of his black hair was gathered in.

The elf was staring at Nassella, and after a heartbeat, his full lips turned up in a smirk.

“Hey Nessa.”

She was shaking, Cullen realized, her hands balled into fists. But before he could move to shield her, thinking she was angry, or afraid, she had moved across the remaining distance and thrown her arms around the stranger’s neck. He lifted her off her feet, wrapping his own arms around her waist, swinging the tiny woman he was holding back and forth.

Stunned, everyone then watched as the strange elf lowered their Inquisitor to the ground, grasped both of her cheeks between his palms, and pressed his lips against hers.

 

* * *

 

Nassella could taste the tears that had fallen down her face. And they were still falling, streaming around Mahanon’s hands as he gripped her close, his palms warm and calloused against her cheeks.

Mahanon… she still couldn’t believe it, couldn’t believe he was holding her again, kissing her again…

Her eyes popped open. Kissing. He was _kissing_ her.

She reached out and pushed against his chest, turning her head to break the hold his chapped lips had on hers. He pulled back, but did not release her face, and she found herself grinning as she looked into his deep, dark eyes.

It was really him. She realized she was shaking, and her heart racing. He wasn’t supposed to be here, wasn’t supposed to be alive. She was sure she had buried him, that he had been among the numerous unidentified dead in the ruins of clan Lavellan’s aravals, mutilated or burned beyond recognition. She had mourned him with the rest.

But now he stood in front of her, whole, unchanged save for a deep, fresh scar that crossed his left cheek.

“Mahanon,” she whispered, curling her fingers against the embossed leather tunic covering his chest. “You’re here.”

She felt like melting into the warmth of his eyes, into the familiar lines of his vallaslin, and the even more familiar lines of his face. She knew his features better than her own, and she felt the urge to kiss him again, if only to reassure herself with the press of his cracked lips against hers that he was really alive.

But she resisted, and instead murmured, “I have so many questions…”

A frown flickered across his face, pulling his thick brows together. His eyes roamed over her face, and warmth crept quickly from her neck to the tips of her ears. “ _So do I_ ,” he responded in elven.

Nassella tried to ignore the anger she heard simmering in his voice, but she knew it couldn’t be avoided. Mahanon was proud, and while the other Dalish elves among the Inquisition had said nothing of Nassella’s missing vallaslin, she knew she would not be so lucky with him. Already she could sense the coming argument, and tried to focus through her scattered, excited thoughts on what she could possibly tell him.

_The truth. He deserves to know._

She pushed against him with more force and pulled herself from his grasp. She turned to the others gathered around them, heating a little more when she found them all staring, some complete with open mouths. “Everyone can relax,” she told them, taking a step away from her clansman. “This is Mahanon, of Clan Lavellan. We grew up together.”

 _And did so, so much more_ …

But the others didn’t need to know that. Let them draw their own conclusions. For all she knew, they would assume such intimate displays were common greetings amongst the Dalish.

“Your clansman?” Charter asked. “But I thought they had all…” she trailed off, seeming to realize what she was about to say.

Grief collided with the joy jumping through her body, but Nassella swallowed it down. “It seems I was wrong,” she said.

Clan Lavellan lived on in more than just her.

It brought more questions to her mind. How had Mahanon survived the slaughter? And where had he been since then?

Questions she would have answered. But first, there were introductions to be made.

“Mahanon,” she said, clearing her throat to steady the wobble her voice had taken on. “This is Charter, one of my top advisors. And this is Commander Cullen Rutherford, leader of the Inquisition’s forces, and another close advisor of mine. This is Skyhold, though I suppose you know that, since you found your way here.” She was rambling, but she was too excited to care.

Cullen stepped forward and extended his hand. “It’s good to meet a member of the Inquisitor’s family. We were all devastated to learn of Clan Lavellan’s loss.”

Mahanon ignored the offered hand, and instead crossed his arms and glared at Cullen. Cullen quickly dropped his hand and gripped his sword. Nassella recognized the gesture as one he used to steady and comfort himself, but Mahanon took it as a threat.

His own hand was on the hilt of a hidden knife in the next instant. “Don’t even try shem,” he spat, snarling at her commander. She heard the sound of steel being drawn from everyone around them.

Nassella stepped forward quickly and grasped Mahanon’s hand, raising her other in a gesture to hold Cullen back. “Mahanon, stop it!” she cried, casting her eyes toward her other soldiers. “Stand down! No one is attacking anyone!”

Mahanon flicked his eyes toward hers, a vein pumping in his neck. But he stood slowly after another heartbeat, though he stayed tense and ready to spring into action.

“I think we need a moment to talk,” Nassella said more calmly, her mind reeling from Mahanon’s sudden change in demeanor. He had always been a little brash, but she’d never thought him the type to attempt attacking like this when he was outnumbered and outarmed. He was on edge, clearly not as comfortable being here as she thought. “Why don’t we go to the gatehouse, and get his sorted out?”

“Inquisitor,” Cullen argued, firmly standing his ground. “Are you sure you can be left alone with this man?”

Nassella wanted to laugh. She trusted Mahanon with her life, and had done so more than once.

“Yes Cullen, I will be fine.”

He relented, and let Nassella pass as she led Mahanon toward the gatehoue. When the door had clicked shut behind them, Nassella turned to face him.

Her clansman. Her family. Her friend…

Her former lover.

And the last person she had ever expected to find at her gate.

She wasn’t sure what to say, now that they were alone. Everything came flooding back at once, and she remembered they had not parted on the best of terms when she left for the Conclave. She could see now that though he seemed excited to see her, he had put up a wall after that first affectionate display. He held himself at a distance, and she didn’t like the way he was studying her, sizing her up.

Was he still angry with how they had left things? Was he angry about something else? Why had he decided that _now_ was the time to come to Skyhold?

“It’s so good to see you, Mahanon,” she finally settled on saying. “You… haven’t changed at all.”

She’d missed looking at his face, she realized. Or maybe she’d missed looking at someone familiar, someone from her life before. He was the only one who knew her as a hunter from Clan Lavellan, and nothing more.

She wished she’d known he was alive. All this time, and she’d thought everything from her past was gone.

“ _You have_ ,” he said, _accused,_ once more in elven.

Nassella’s ears burned, and she looked down at herself, following the path of Mahanon’s gaze. She was still dressed in finery from the tea, scrubbed and brushed and blanketed in deep red silks adorned with dark, rich velvet. Threads of gold glittered along strategic seams, vaguely elvhen in their pattern, but only to a human eye, and bobbles and trinkets glittered in the faint light. She didn’t need to look to know that her face was painted with khol and clear of branching vallaslin. The vallaslin Mahanon had given his blood for her to receive, along with every member of their clan that now laid beneath the Free Marches ground.

He was still the handsome Dalish man she had left in the Free Marches, proudly wearing his vallaslin and carefully crafted Dalish leathers, old and worn as they were.

But not her. She hadn’t looked herself in years.

“A lot has happened,” she said by way of explanation. Mahanon snorted. “ _Lethallin_ … you must understand…”

“I understand that you left!” he cried suddenly, advancing on her a step and throwing his hands into the air. “You left and you didn’t come back! You somehow lead a group of shems, and now… and now I find you here with your vallaslin gone!” He grasped his hands behind his head. “I never believed you truly wanted to be here. I always thought you would come back. But you abandoned us, ran off as soon as you could…”

Nassella clenched her fists, body vibrating from the anger building inside of her. She had expected some sort of accusation, but nothing like this outburst. “That is not what happened!” she yelled back, throwing her shoulders back, though she could never hope to stand taller than anyone. “You know it’s more complicated than that! I didn’t ask for any of this!” The mark on her palm flared, and she closed her hand tighter. It quieted, leaving her arm aching.

Mahanon’s eyes flicked down to her hand, then back to her face. His brows smoothed slightly, though he still looked worried. “Did they… make you remove them?” he asked quietly.

“No,” Nassella said, casting her eyes to the ground, her face warm. She had to tell him, he had to know…

“So you did this to yourself,” he said, voice once more laced with anger. “You chose to become _harellan…”_

“No!” she cried, looking back to his eyes. Her heart thumped in her throat and she grappled for the words. He needed to understand… “I had to Mahanon, but not why you think!”

“Then what?” he demanded. “Why did you do this?” She hesitated, and he turned away, starting to pace around the room. “I shouldn’t have come here. I should have known when you didn’t come to us that you were lost…”

“I learned what they really are!” Nassella blurted. She couldn’t stand this, couldn’t stand him thinking that she had abandoned them. “I learned what they really meant.”

Mahanon stopped his pacing and turned his critical eyes once more to her. “And what is that?”

Nassella twisted her sleeves between her fingers. “They are slave markings,” she finally managed to say. “They… they were used by the gods to mark their slaves. We’ve been marking ourselves as property and I… I couldn’t stand to have them on my face!”

Mahanon’s eyes widened, and then narrowed. “I don’t believe you,” he finally breathed. “The gods didn’t keep slaves.”

“It’s true,” Nassella insisted. She took a step closer to him. “They had slaves. Mahanon… _lethallin…_ I wouldn’t have asked them removed for anything else.”

Mahanon was breathing heavily. “Who told you this?” he demanded.

“Solas. He was an elven apostate that I… fought with from the beginning. He learned what they originally were from memories in the Fade. He told me, and offered to remove them, and I… I wanted them gone Mahanon, after learning that. You have to understand.”

“Was he a keeper? Why hadn’t he told anyone?”

“He... wasn’t Dalish,” Nassella admitted.

Mahanon barked out a laugh. “And you believed his lies? You’re a fool Nassella, listening to a flat-ear explain our heritage…”

“I trust him Mahanon!” Nassella yelled. “With my life.”

Mahanon shook his head and returned to pacing. “Foolish, foolish woman…”

Nassella bit her tongue. There was nothing she could do to change Manahon’s mind when he was so upset.

“Where is this… Solas now? He demanded. “I want to speak with him…”

“He’s gone,” Nassella admitted, and her voice caught in her throat. Even though she loved James, Solas’s abrupt departure still hurt. “He left after Corypheus was defeated.”

“Of course he did,” Mahanon muttered, continuing to pace, rubbing a hand over his face. Nassella watched him, hoping anxiously that he would calm down. He was the first Dalish she had told, the first of their people to learn the truth other than herself…

And it was not going well.

“You can’t tell anyone,” he finally said, stopping and turning his accusatory gaze on her. “Even if it’s true… it doesn’t matter! Whatever they once meant, they don’t mean it any longer. Our vallaslin mark us as Dalish and honor our heritage. We are _free._ Nothing changes that.”

“I know,” Nassella whispered. It was what she realized now, and why she regretted what she had done. She wished she could have been as clear of purpose as Mahanon that night in the Emerald Graves, and refused Solas’s offer.

But she hadn’t, and the shame of that decision would haunt her forever.

Still, Mahanon seemed to have calmed, and he now looked at her with more pity than anger. “I… understand though. Why you did it,” he told her. “Even if it was wrong.”

Nassella crossed her arms and hugged herself close. She couldn’t stand his disapproval, couldn’t stand to think that he hated her. He had come here for a reason, and she didn’t want him to regret that decision.

“Can we… go back to when you were happy to see me?” she asked him hopefully. “Because I certainly am.”

He sighed. “That was more habit than anything else.” She frowned and he relented. “Of course, Nessa,” he said, and crossed the room to place his hands on her shoulders. His gaze turned softer. “I’m always happy to see you,” he added quietly.

Nassella’s heart skipped. After all this time, he still acted like he loved her. That kiss hadn’t just been an impulse, the last remnants of old habits…

She pulled from his hold and turned toward the door. “Let’s walk,” she suggested, opening the door. “I can show you Skyhold.”

He followed, ignoring, at least for the moment, how she had avoided his comment. She led him to the wall, and talked.

She told him what had happened at the Conclave, how she had wanted to leave, but why she had needed to stay. Proud and suspicious as he was, even Mahanon recognized that she had needed to help, and accepted her decision. She could have written to them more, she realized as she relayed her tale, but things had been so chaotic, and even then, she hadn’t considered that her departure from the clan had been permanent.

But after skimming over Adamant she couldn’t avoid her mistake, couldn’t skirt around the fact that in the end, she had failed.

“I tried to come,” she said softly, her feet swinging off the battlements as they surveyed Skyhold’s interior in the soft evening light. “I heard that you were in danger and I tried Mahanon, I tried to come…” She wiped away her tears, afraid to look at his face. “But we couldn’t get there fast enough. I was too late, and all I could do was… was bury them…” She couldn’t continue, and covered her face as she cried even more.

She should have been faster. She should have been there to protect them.

“So that was you,” Mahanon murmured. Nassella peaked through her fingers and found him surveying Skyhold, his thoughts miles away. “I wasn’t there either,” he admitted. “I had left to find food… slipping past the bandits in the middle of the night. We were running low on supplies from the constant harassment, and we needed food… And I wasn’t there when they attacked. I wasn’t there to help.” Bitterness dripped from his voice.

“You would have died if you had been there,” Nassella told him. “You wouldn’t have made a difference.”

“I might have,” Mahanon said, then added quietly, “and maybe I’d rather have died fighting then come back to… that.”

They lapsed into silence, and Nassella’s tears eventually dried. It seemed his anger wasn’t entirely directed toward her.

“I found them though,” Mahanon eventually said. “The _shems_ that did it. I found them all, and put an end to them.”

Nassella’s eyes grew wide, and she stared at him. His new scar was facing her, and she wondered if that was how he had gotten it, tracking down and killing their clan’s killers. He had always been a good hunter, but to do something like this…

Perhaps he was not so unchanged after all.

“Is that what you’ve been doing since then?” she asked. He nodded. “Why didn’t you come here sooner? I would have helped you!”

Mahanon’s eyes flashed toward her. “Why didn’t you go to find them yourself?”

Nassella’s body tensed. “I wanted to,” she told him. “But there were… more important things I needed to do.”

It killed her to say it, just as it had killed her to make that decision then.

Mahanon’s stare was searing, but all he said was, “It doesn’t matter. It’s done now,” and turned once more to looking over Skyhold and the people moving around its courtyards.

“I’m sorry, Mahanon,” Nassella whispered. “I wish I could do things over. Differently.”

Mahanon nodded. “I know.” He reached out and took her hand, interlocking his fingers gently with hers. He looked into her eyes, and it was like they were back in their forest, alone on a hunt, taking a moment for themselves before focusing on their task of bringing home food for the clan.

Nassella’s heart thumped. Even after all this time, after everything that had driven her away from him in the first place… she couldn’t stop the response she had to that look. He was her first love, and in many ways, she still loved him.

“Why did you come here?”

His gaze was heat, low burning embers that seared into her heart. “For you,” he murmured.

She recognized the turn the thumping of her heart took. Panic. Not excitement or love or lust…

She pulled her hand away from his. She needed to be clear. She needed to close what had been left open when she left. “I’ve moved on Mahanon,” she told him. “We can’t… be what we were.”

Mahanon frowned, and pulled his hand back. “So you were running away,” he said. Nassella didn’t know what to say.

Yes, she had run away… but only temporarily. She had intended to return, knew she would have bonded with him when she did…

But she needed something for herself, one last chance to be free and independent and not tied to a hearth by husband or children…

Mahanon cleared his throat. “I also came to see this,” he added, nodding toward Skyhold and its residents. “I’d heard stories, but I needed to see it for myself.” He glanced toward her. “You’re really in charge of all of this?”

Nassella nodded, glad to see he had accepted her refusal. “Yes, I am… I still can’t believe it sometimes.”

“And they… listen to you?” he asked. “Even the humans?”

She nodded again. “We came together to save the world. There wasn’t time to worry about that stuff.”

He snorted. “I doubt _that_.”

Nassella shrugged. “Well, it worked well enough.”

“I suppose it did.” Another silence fell. “What are you doing now?” he asked.

She took a deep breath. “There’s still a lot that needs fixed.” She studied Mahanon’s profile. She still couldn’t believe she could look at it again. “What about you?”

He shrugged.

He was lost, now that his hunt was over. Just as homeless as her… and something in her doubted that he would be content to simply find another clan to take him in.

Except, it wasn’t like her at all. She had a home. She had Skyhold.

“Stay here,” she told him. “Help the Inquisition. I know we could use you, and you’ll be helping to make things better, for everyone... for the elves! No matter what you’ve heard, this isn’t the Chantry, or anything like it.”

He turned to study her. “I would hope not, with you in charge.”

She grinned. “Stay a few days… or a few weeks,” she insisted. “I don’t… I don’t want to lose you again.”

He held his intense stare for a moment longer, then nodded. “Fine.” Then he smirked, and some of the playful spark she remembered returned to his weary eyes. “I’ll admit I wasn’t looking forward to the trek back down that snow-filled pass.” He rubbed his arms. “I don’t see how you’ve managed to live this far south for so long.”

Nassella smiled. “It definitely took some adjusting.” She hopped off the wall, and beckoned him to follow. “Come on, I’ll get the steward started on setting up a room for you. And then we can get some food…”

Mahanon slid down and followed her, slipping his arm through hers and leading her across the wall. “I believe you owe me the rest of your story… like how you managed to kill both a blighted dragon _and_ a giant darkspawn magister.”

Warmth spread through Nassella’s body. Having Mahanon back soothed something that had been left ragged for far too long. She wanted to skip, knowing that for the time being, he would be around.

It was enough to know that he was alive.

“With a lot of help,” she told him as they walked down the stairs. “It took a lot of help.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harellan = traitor


	8. Chapter 7 - Bianca's Favor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is too long. I apologize. (It's also not edited very well)

Naomi pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders and shivered. She’d thought she was handling the cold well, but this slope they had spent the morning climbing left them incredibly exposed to the winds blowing through the mountains, and she was chilled to the bone.

“Are we sure this is the right spot?”

Varric peeked at her from under the folded piles of his own cloak. “How am I supposed to know Freckles, I’m not the navigator.” His voice was nearly unintelligible, muffled by the layers of cloth and fur encompassing his body.

“Well are we sure we haven’t missed her?”

Varric’s bundle nodded. “That I do know is right. We got here just in time, before her window closed.”

Naomi bit at the inside of her cheek and looked back out over the landscape in front of them, searching the valley for any sign of movement. She saw nothing but the occasional gust of swirling snow. “Then where is she?”

More of Varric’s face peeked out from his layers. “She’ll be here,” he assured, the frost of his breath curling up into the breeze. “If only for curiosity alone.”

“This is right,” Skinner offered from further up the slope. She’d been the one to direct them to the spot. “Though I still wonder how you managed to go your entire life without learning to read a map, dwarf.”

“As if a map would help in Kirkwall,” Varric mumbled, his face once more protected from the biting cold by his cloak. The fabric shifted, and Naomi thought he was wiggling his hand up toward his head, a suspicion that was confirmed when the cloak bulged in and out as he tapped his temple. “Better to keep everything you need for navigating up here.” The more Naomi learned of Kirkwall, the less she wanted to visit. She came from a land of nice, square grids. Even visiting cities in Europe had thrown her off. “Besides, I hardly left the city before being dragged down here by the Seeker.”

“Well, city layouts would be different than topographical maps,” Naomi said, resting her head on her knees. “You wouldn’t be any help anyway.”

“See, Freckles gets it,” Varric defended.

Skinner snorted, but didn’t comment further.

Naomi didn’t really doubt that they were in the right spot. Limited as her navigational skills were, she believed that this hanging valley they waited in was the same one marked on the map. And she trusted that Skinner and the rest of the Chargers knew how to find their way around the wilderness.

She was just anxious to finally, _finally_ get to see some lyrium. After weeks of travelling and delays, battling the cold and forcing down meal after meal of cold, hard rations, it was finally going to be worth it.

_It’s already worth it._

Naomi sighed at the thought. Of course it was worth it, just for the fact that they found Abigail along the way. It was still a challenge believing they had really encountered her. Any change in their plans, any further delay or swifter travelling could have meant missing her, and never knowing she was alive.

It was a miracle, all of it, and Naomi wished she didn’t have to leave her so soon. She wondered how James was fairing with his task of learning more about Abigail’s life, and prayed that they wouldn’t end up fighting constantly. She couldn’t help but think that the entire endeavor would have been more successful if she had been the one left with Abigail.

But her original mission was also important, and she couldn’t abandon it. She could just hope that finding Abigail was a sign that the rest of her endeavor would be a success.

If only Varric’s contact would arrive. She was starting to grow restless waiting. Several more moments passed, with Naomi’s thoughts bouncing between excitement for what she was going to see once they reached the lyrium vein, worrying and speculating about what her siblings were getting up to, the occasional wish that Cullen was with her and wondering how he was occupying his days, and eavesdropping on Dorian and Bull complaining about the cold while bundled up beneath a single, massive cloak. She was starting to drift off when Dalish gave out a shout.

Naomi stood and spun around, watching as a short, cloaked figure emerged from a small copse of trees on the slope above. They descended the valley with careful, measured steps, their face obscured by a hood. Varric moved his way through the gathered group and approached the figure, throwing back his own hood in the process.

“I was beginning to think you weren’t going to show!” he called out, a laugh held inside his voice.

“I could say the same,” the figure said in a woman’s rich alto. She did not lower her hood, though Naomi could see a glimpse of her face. She was pale, with lips reddened from the cold. “You cut it pretty close here, Tethras.”

“We got tied up by some… family drama,” Varric told her. “But we’re here, when you wanted, so what do you say? Don’t tell me I came all this way for nothing!”

The figure shook her head, though her lips curled up in a small smile. “Follow me, up the valley. Let’s get underground before we’re spotted.” She started to move and Naomi scrambled to collect her things and follow.

“No one’s going to see us, Bianca,” Varric said. Naomi saw the woman glance sharply toward Varric.

“Shh,” she hushed, warily eyeing the slopes around them. “Do you want all of Thedas to hear?”

Varric’s sigh was audible from the back of the column to the front. “I thought the point of coming out here was because it was _private.”_

“We can’t be too careful,” Bianca said, climbing somewhat faster. “We’ve already been together once in the last year. This meeting is just asking for trouble.”

“You didn’t have to agree to this,” Varric reminded her.

Bianca didn’t turn around or answer, but Naomi saw her shake her head as she climbed. Naomi knew that Varric had had reservations about meeting this contact, mentioning that just being together could get them both killed. She worried again if it was worth the trouble, and wondered what these two could have possibly done to be considered so dangerous when together.

“She never considered not coming,” Bull rumbled as they began their climb in earnest.

“And here I thought the crossbow was his only love,” Dorian added, falling into line behind Naomi. She turned back and frowned.

“You think they’re together?” she whispered.

“Not _currently,_ ” Bull said with a chuckle.

“Ah,” Naomi said, turning back to the climb. “If you say so.” There was certainly something familiar about their banter, Naomi thought, and considering that Varric’s weapon appeared to be named after this woman, it wasn’t a stretch to think their history was a romantic one.

Why that made them dangerous, she still couldn’t fathom.

The strain of the climb made further conversation difficult, so the rest of their journey progressed in silence. Naomi discarded her speculation about the nature of Varric and Bianca’s relationship to focus on her footing, and on deciding the first thing she would do once she finally saw lyrium.

Sketch, she decided. It couldn’t hurt to have more accurate representations of how lyrium grew in the wild. It would also give her a chance to get a lay of the land, and to decide where to focus her search for something that might be able to kill the organism.

Bianca brought them nearly to the top of the valley before turning them to the side, toward an offshoot canyon hidden from the main pass below. Naomi felt her heart dropping into her stomach as she scrambled up a fine scree slope, worried that every step might send her tumbling into the people climbing below her. They followed the winding chimney for several more yards, until finally Bianca pulled to a stop and slipped behind an unassuming boulder.

Naomi peeked around the large stone to find a dark opening in the cliff wall, emitting a foul, warm draft. Her nostrils flared and she coughed, her nose and throat protesting against the rancid odor. But Bianca and Varric were already picking their way into the darkness, and the others were piling up behind her, so she took last breath of the relatively clean air around her, and plunged into the cave.

The first few steps led her into deeper and deeper darkness, with the tunnel quickly turning and blocking what little light filtered from the opening. Naomi reached out and let her fingers trail along the passage’s wall, guiding her forward. But then the corridor turned again and she saw the glow of fire ahead, a light that grew as she moved closer.

Varric and Bianca were waiting in a small chamber, the source of the light. Naomi glanced around the area, stepping over a bedroll and pack as she made room for the others filing in from the passage behind her. A small fire flickered in the center of the chamber, adding its light to that provided by the few torches shoved into cracks in the wall. Bianca had clearly been spending some time waiting for them.

“Is everyone here?” Varric asked. After the rounds of affirmation had quieted, he continued. “Good. Now that we’re out of sight, we can get properly introduced.” He proceeded to name those around the circle, ending with Naomi.

Bianca looked her up and down. “I was expecting you to be a Tranquil. Or a dwarf.”

Naomi frowned. “What? Why?”

“You’re human. Most humans avoid raw lyrium, unless they’re Tranquil.”

Naomi crossed her arms. She’d heard enough about the dangers of lyrium from Dagna, and was prepared to deal with them. “I’m aware of the danger, and I’ve taken precautions.”

Bianca shrugged. “So long as you know what you’re getting into,” she said, then turned to Varric. “You’re sure you can trust these people?” she asked, flicking her eyes over the others gathered around.

“You don’t need to worry,” Varric assured her. “We left the rookie soldiers down in the valley, and Bull’s Chargers know how to keep a secret.”

“That’s right,” Bull added. “You won’t have to worry about my people letting information about this meeting getting out.”

Bianca didn’t look entirely convinced, but she didn’t push the issue further. “The vein is several miles further into the mountain, so we’ll be camping down there. We’ll need to pass through a stretch of Deep Roads, so be prepared to encounter darkspawn. I haven’t seen any signs of them here recently, but that could always change.” Her eyes passed once more over Naomi, who was in the midst of suppressing a cough induced by the smell around her, before she turned to the ground to pack up her things. “Get your last breaths of fresh air now. It only gets worse from here.”

Naomi glanced back the way they had come, tempted to walk back down the tunnel so she could clear her nose one more time. But Varric tugged at her arm, pulling her aside. “Sorry Bianca’s being so... short,” he murmured, his eyes not really leaving the other woman’s form as she rolled up her bedding. “She’s just tense. I’m asking a lot to see her again.”

Naomi bit at the inside of her lip, chewing on the question that had been bothering her since Varric brought up his contact. “What did you two do?” she whispered. “Why do people want you dead?”

Varric tore his eyes from Bianca and looked up at Naomi with a sad grin. “Sorry Freckles, that’s a story I’ll never tell.”

Naomi narrowed her eyes, but before she could push him further Bianca gave out a call, and proceeded to lead them further into the mountain, down a gaping hole spewing warm, foul air. Bull led his Chargers into the abyss, Dorian at his side. Naomi stopped before committing herself to the darkness, nearly gagging on the odor. No one else seemed as affected as her. Under any other circumstances, she would have turned back, but she picture Cullen, thought of his pain, and forced herself to follow the others.

They walked the miles ahead in near silence. Dorian and Dalish lit their way, but the darkness still pressed around them like a blanket, stifling any conversation before it could start. Naomi was on edge, like everyone else, listening ahead for the shuffle of feet, or the distant calls of darkspawn. Bianca said their way ahead was clear, but it was foolish for any of them to assume that meant they were safe.

But it wasn’t the darkness or the threat of darkspawn or the distance that made the journey uncomfortable. Bianca was right, the stench of the caves did not improve as they moved deeper, and Naomi struggled to keep her composure. She started to feel nauseous, her nose unable to become accustomed to the stench. She tried to hold her breath as long as she could, but the strain of the walk made that difficult, and when she breathed with her mouth she could _taste_ the odor on her tongue…

When they entered the Deep Roads the smell of death and decay was overwhelming, and Naomi felt her stomach twist. She gagged on the air, and before she could stop herself, bent over and vomited. She steadied herself on the wall and spit out the sour bile coating her mouth when she was done, gasping for air. She could hear the people behind her shuffling closer, whispering and asking if she was all right. Her face burned and she squeezed her eyes shut, mortified that she had lost control of her stomach so publicly.

“Here,” Dorian murmured, pressing his waterskin into her hands and gently rubbing her arm. Naomi blinked her eyes opened and stood slowly, her hands shaking slightly as she opened the pouch. She spit once more and took a careful sip, washing out her mouth before drinking several gulps of the cool, fresh water.

“Thanks,” she whispered, handing the waterskin back to Dorian. She took a glance toward the others, finding them all staring at her worriedly. Except Bianca. She was glaring. It just made Naomi’s embarrassment worse.

“Are you ill,” Dorian asked her gently. “Do we need to turn back?”

Naomi shook her head, attempting to stand straighter. Though her stomach felt a little more settled, the smell around her was still unbearable, and she knew soon her stomach would be turning again. “It’s just the smell,” she told him. “I’ll get used to it.”

“We need to keep moving,” Bianca called out, urgency in her tone. “We shouldn’t linger in the Roads.”

Naomi nodded and forced herself to walk away from the wall. Bianca turned and began walking purposefully down the large corridor they had entered. Dorian trailed behind Naomi as she followed the dwarf, taking her first good look around her, attempting to distract herself from the smell, of which she could only assume was darkspawn.

The Road they’d entered was larger than the cramped tunnel they had been following, enlarged and carved with intricate designs by generations of dwarves, worn and ancient and long abandoned. Neglect had let many of the pillars and pieces of the ceiling fall to the ground, complicating their movement forward as they climbed over jagged boulders. Despite her discomfort with the odor, Naomi wanted to stop and study the architecture around her, impressed by the scale of the Roads, which were larger than even the largest caves she had seen on Earth. But Bianca pushed their pace, and it took all of Naomi’s focus to keep up without falling over the rubble littering the floor.

They walked what felt like several miles before Bianca turned toward the tunnel’s walls, leading them through a small arch blocked off with a slab of stone. She activated a rune with some sort of key, and the opening ground open with a soft rumble. Once they were through she closed the passage off, sealing them from the Road behind them.

 “So we are not followed,” she explained tersely, before continuing to lead them quickly ahead.

The new passage was warm, humid, and stifling, and Naomi found herself gagging once again on the rancid air. The walls around her felt close and constricting, and she had to stare at the ground ahead of her to keep moving forward. The stench of darkspawn seemed to permeate from the stones themselves, and Naomi began to doubt whether she could make it through this endeavor. She thought she would grow accustomed to the smell, but the odor was no less rancid to her here, several hours into their hike, than it had been when they first began.

Bianca led them down another mile, then two. Naomi could feel the press of the atmosphere as they continued to descend, and she started to sweat from the strain of the hike. Her stomach continued to twist with discomfort, but she managed to keep the contents of her stomach inside.

Finally, Bianca turned into another passage and led them down a few hundred more yards. Naomi could see at the end a faint blue glow, and her heart started to race. Bianca exited the passage, followed by Varric, and Naomi felt a faint humming in her blood that grew stronger as she approached the light, adding to the excitement building in her body.

She passed out off the passage into a chamber nearly one hundred yards wide, extending ahead into the darkness. The magical torches faintly lit the walls, revealing stalactites and other formations clinging to the ceiling several yards overhead. They were in a natural cavern, the only dwarven carvings those adorning the archway that let them in.

And covering the right side of the cavern, extending twenty feet above their heads, and perhaps a hundred feet down toward the darkness, were blue, branching veins of lyrium, softly glowing and shedding light on her face as Naomi walked closer. The strands were clinging to the stones, their patterns a larger version of the growth she had seen in her gelatin dishes…

Naomi looked down the tunnel, straining to see if there was any more signs of the glowing blue substance. But past the lyrium vein was pitch black, obscuring any hint of how far the cavern extended. And it didn’t look like there was any more lyrium further in.

“Is this it?” Naomi asked, tearing her eyes away from the lyrium to look at Bianca.

“That’s is,” Bianca said, crossing her arms.

“Really?” Naomi’s shoulders dropped. “From what I’ve heard, lyrium veins can extend for miles…”

“There’s a reason this vein was never mined,” Bianca said. “It’s too small and out of the way to be worth the time.”

“Right,” Naomi said, disappointed, but trying not to show it. She knew Varric had gone through a lot of trouble to get her here, and Bianca already seemed on edge, as if she was ready to abandon them.

But she _was_ disappointed. She had imagined having miles of lyrium to explore, an entire ecosystem where she had the highest chance of discovering something that might kill it. But she doubted it would take her more than a day to inspect what little lyrium was in front of her, and even from her current vantage she could already tell that there weren’t any obvious signs of distress in the lyrium. It was growing strong and healthy, and she would be surprised if she found anything preying on it or possibly killing it.

She tried to shake away those doubts as they entered her mind. She wouldn’t know until she looked closer what she would find. But despite her best efforts, she wasn’t hopeful, and felt the crush of failure already weighing on her heart.

“I suggest we set up camp further in, away from the lyrium,” Bianca announced, already leading them further into the cavern. “Any mages will especially want to stay away.”

Naomi trailed behind the group, taking the opportunity to quickly assess the lyrium as she passed. It was such a small vein, strong and vibrant, so clearly healthy…

She felt tears pricking at her eyes, already imagining that she would have to tell Cullen she failed to find anything to help him. After all this effort, after all these miles, she would return empty handed…

A drop of water slipped down her cheek and she quickly wiped it away, frowning. She shook her head and took a deep breath. Crying would help nothing. She didn’t even know why she was getting so emotional yet. She hadn’t even had a chance to look closer.

She caught up with the others and dropped her pack, sighing softly as the weight was released from her shoulders. She stood up straight and stretched, before diving into the task of unloading their supplies.

When the camp was set up and ready everyone started to settle down to play cards or sharpen weapons, and Naomi took her journal and returned to the lyrium. She opened to a clean page and started to sketch, including notes on how the lyrium was growing, what types of surfaces it clung to, what it appeared to use to attach itself to the stone…

She could _feel_ the lyrium’s presence, so much stronger than anything she had felt when working with it back in Skyhold. Here in the wild it was so much larger than what she had managed to grow in her dishes, and for the first time in weeks she became aware of the amulet in her chest. Usually during the day, when it was covered in clothes, she could nearly forget it was there, as she had grown accustomed to the slight tightness in the skin on her chest it created. But now, near the lyrium, she could feel it start to hum in harmony with it. It wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, but her body never seemed to settle down, as if more energy coursed through her. For the first time since Dagna had created the ring she wore constantly, Naomi realized she might have to be careful about the amulet’s effects on her body, as the ring might not be enough.

But for the meantime she felt fine, and focused on her study. She realized quickly that the lyrium wasn’t just growing on the surface of the cavern. It appeared to extend into the rock, following minute cracks and enlarging them as it grew. For all she knew the lyrium extended for miles _into_ the mountain. But she hadn’t planned on digging into rock to study it, and regretted that the answer she needed could be just feet away from her, with no way for her to find it.

That realization brought another wave of tears to her eyes. She clearly hadn’t thought any of this through enough, and dragged all these people halfway across the Frostbacks for nothing…

“Are you… crying?”

Naomi jumped, turning away from the wall of lyrium in front of her and wiping at her eyes. Bianca had walked up behind her, silently, and caught Naomi as she started to sniff. “No,” she sputtered, wiping away the water on her cheeks.

“I realize you are disappointed,” Bianca continued, crossing her arms. “But surely this is a bit of an overreaction.”

Naomi couldn’t seem to do anything right in front of this woman. “I’m not… that isn’t why… I’m not…” She took a deep breath and squeezed her eyes shut, so she couldn’t see Bianca’s look of disapproval. “I’m not sure why I’m crying,” she admitted. “Yes, there is less lyrium than I imagined, but I really appreciate you bringing me here, and I understand it was a risk for you to do so.” She opened her eyes, thankfully drying out. “I’m not disappointed. I just… have put a lot of time into getting here, and I’m afraid I won’t find what I’m looking for. And that’s… a little upsetting, because someone is counting on me, and I’m just… stressed.” She took another deep breath. “But that’s not your fault at all, and like I said… I can’t thank you enough for bringing me here.”

Bianca studied her a moment. “I didn’t do this for you. This is a favor for Varric.”

“I… I still appreciate it,” Naomi said quietly. Whatever first impression Bianca had of her, Naomi didn’t think she would be able to change it. She looked away from the dwarf, back to the lyrium. “I really don’t know why I’m crying,” she repeated quietly. “It’s not like I was having any more success back in Skyhold. This is the first chance I’ve had to advance my research in months.”

Bianca was silent for a moment longer, but then she simply turned toward the wall of lyrium. “Varric mentioned that you have found evidence that lyrium is alive.”

Naomi blinked in surprise at the change in subject, but welcomed it. “Yes, yes I have. An arcanist at Skyhold helped me to build a device I can use to look at very small things. I can see the… the small components that make up lyrium, like those that make up plants and animals… And I’ve found that it grows from the lyrium given Templars, and even from their blood.”

“Small components?” Bianca asked. “I’m not sure I understand.”

Naomi put down her writing utensils and flipped through her notebook, finding the pages covered in her sketches and notes from using the microscope to look at the tissues of various organisms. She started to explain to Bianca as best she could about cells and the nature of life, eventually showing how lyrium compared to those other living things. But what seemed to convince Bianca were her sketches of the lyrium growing in Alec’s brain.

“You found this inside a Templar?” she asked, attempting to squint and read Naomi’s English notes.

“Yes,” Naomi said with a sigh. “And I believe all Templars have this growing in them, even those that have stopped taking it. This is why I am here, to find a way to remove it from their bodies.”

Bianca nodded thoughtfully. “I also believe lyrium is alive.”

“Oh?” Naomi asked. “I had read that some people suspected, but didn’t think anyone truly knew.”

“I’m sure many dwarves suspect, but no one cares, so long as they can get their coin from it,” Bianca explained. “I realized while studying red lyrium. Varric told me about it, and I was curious… I discovered red lyrium is lyrium infected with the Blight. Only living things can contract the Blight.”

“Shit,” Naomi muttered. She wasn’t entirely sure of all of the implications of that fact, but she figured it couldn’t be good.

“That’s what Varric said when I told him.”

“How did you discover this?”

Bianca’s gaze darkened. “I found a chamber during my explorations, tainted by darkspawn and the blight. There was a small vein of lyrium there, halfway in the process of changing into red lyrium. The blight had spread into it, changing it and corrupting it.”

“So red lyrium is not another species,” Naomi murmured, taking up her notebook and scribbling some notes. “But lyrium that is sick… Can you tell me everything you can remember?”

“That is all,” Bianca said, crossing her arms.

Naomi lowered her hands. “Oh… alright then, that’s fine,” she said, trying to hide her disappointment. Apparently, despite their mutual discoveries, Bianca wasn’t ready to fully accept Naomi.

Bianca studied the wall ahead of them again, glancing up and down the length of the lyrium vein. “I have heard stories of creatures deep in the dwarven lyrium mines that feed on lyrium,” she said, “slowly moving through the tunnels like a living slime. They have been known to feed on sleeping dwarves as well. Perhaps such a creature would have the answers you need.”

Naomi excitedly made a note. “Yes… yes it might. At the very least it’s good to know that _something_ does kill it, even if by eating…” But then she sighed. “But I can’t get into the large lyrium mines!” She closed her eyes and let out a long, frustrated breath. “I don’t know how to convince the dwarves to let me down there.”

“I’m afraid it will be difficult,” Bianca said. “The Miner’s Guild holds onto their secrets tightly.”

“I know,” Naomi muttered. “That’s why I’m _here._ ”

Bianca sniffed. “I will let you return to your search,” she said, abruptly turning back toward the camp. “We must not linger here more than a few days.”

Naomi watched her walk away, wondering if there was a way that Bianca could have some sort of influence over the dwarves that controlled the mines, some amount of clout that could give her a chance to see them. But it seemed that even if she did, Bianca was not willing to give any more favors for her cause.

She had to make the most of this vein, so Naomi returned her attention to the lyrium, combing over every inch of the wall that she could without touching it. She worked for hours, ignoring the growing rumbling in her stomach, overpowering the slight nausea that still lingered, until her attention began to waiver. She was sitting and staring blankly at the wall when Dorian joined her, a steaming bowl of food in his hands.

“Any breakthroughs?” he asked as he handed her the bowl. “Sparks of genius?”

Naomi took the food and shook her head, shaking away the weary fog that had fallen over her mind. “No,” she sighed, reaching for the spoon and mixing the contents of the thick stew someone had made from their dried provisions. “This entire trip was a waste.”

“Come now, don’t give up so easily,” Dorian comforted as he gingerly found a patch of relatively dust-free ground to sit. “Tevinter wasn’t built in a day, you won’t find the cure for lyrium in one either.”

“I know,” Naomi mumbled, still stirring her food. She was starving, but something told her that trying to eat would just upset her stomach again. “It just seems like this trip will turn out to be a lot of effort for nothing.”

Dorian patted her on the shoulder as she took a small bite. “I have a feeling I shouldn’t have to remind you that sometimes that’s how research goes. You follow one avenue of inquiry to its end, and if that leaves you with nothing then you simply back up and try again. I can’t remember the number of times Alexius and I had to return to our early experiments in order to move our research forward.”

Naomi knew that. Of course she did. But it didn’t make the sting of failure any less. Still, she tried to smile and nodded. “When I get back to Skyhold, that’s exactly what I’ll do.”

“Good!” Dorian exclaimed, then glanced back toward the camp. The Chargers had spread out over the course of the day, lounging around caring for weapons and gambling with dice. Grim and Rocky were keeping watch, Bull was still eating, and Varric and Bianca were nowhere to be seen. “I think it’s time you took a break, got some rest,” he added, rising to his feet and urging Naomi to do the same. She struggled to balance all of her things in her hands, and yawned as she stood. Dorian was right. She needed to sleep.

She avoided the others as she settled down for the night, not wanting to repeat over and over again the truth of her findings from the day. Better to wait until the very end of their stay to disappoint everyone, than for them to think the entire time that she had led them on a hopeless chase. She managed to keep her food in her stomach, and noticed as she was settling into her furs Bianca and Varric returning from deeper in the cavern. They were walking side by side, and Naomi swore that Varric’s shirt was open another button than usual, and that Bianca’s cheeks were flushed.

 _Bulls’ definitely right about them,_ she thought as she drifted to sleep, and wondered if there was _any_ way Varric could convince Bianca to try and get her into the lyrium mines…

 

* * *

 

Naomi woke the next morning with a sore back and a twisting stomach. The smell of darkspawn was nearly overwhelming after her night’s sleep, and she found herself gagging more than once as she readied herself for the day. But it wasn’t until Dalish placed a bowl of steaming porridge in her hands that her stomach flipped entirely, and Naomi barely made it outside of the perimeter of the camp before she was bent over and heaving, sour bile splashing on the stones at her feet.

Tears pricked her eyes when she finally calmed. Nothing was going right.

Dorian guided her back to the fire and sat her on a stone, his brows pinched with worry. “Now are you sure you aren’t ill?” he asked her, brushing the back of his hand over her brow. It was beaded with sweat, but Naomi didn’t feel particularly warm. “You don’t feel feverish,” Dorian muttered.

“It’s just the smell,” Naomi repeated for the third or so time. “I can’t get used to it. But I feel better now,” she insisted as others began to gather around. “I just need a sip of water.”

Dorian was skeptical, but he backed away as Stitches stepped forward and gave Naomi a waterskin. She rinsed out her mouth and wiped at her lips, handing it back as she moved to collect her things for the day’s work. She still felt ill, but tried to hide it from the others, though she wasn’t entirely able to avoid seeing Bianca staring at her from across the camp, her expression impassive.

 _At least she didn’t look disgusted,_ Naomi thought as she approached the lyrium wall. She sat down and opened her notes, attempting to look busy as she waited for the last of the nausea to pass.

But even once she started to feel better, her search was just as fruitless as the day before. She stared at the wall for hours, getting as close as she could to the softly humming lyrium, inspecting every inch of the spreading veins for signs of distress and decay, for any other organism impeding the lyrium’s growth or even killing it. But there was nothing, and the buzzing emanating from her chest in rhythm with the lyrium started to grow uncomfortable, and her eyes were strained from peering at the dim glow.

She forced herself to walk away from the wall and crumpled down next to the fire, leaning her head against her knees to rest her eyes. Now that she was relaxed, she noticed the headache pounding behind her eyes, and just how much her body had started to shake. She took several deep breaths and tried to collect her thoughts.

She wasn’t going to find anything. She was almost certain of that. At least nothing obvious, and she wasn’t sure that she had the time or the equipment to find anything that wasn’t on the surface. She was nervous to dig any deeper into the stone, but maybe if she wore enough protection, she could manage to uncover a little more lyrium…

“Hey Freckles, giving up already?”

Naomi lifted her head and watched Varric settle down next to her. She saw Bull sitting across the fire, and Bianca wandering toward the wall of lyrium. Everyone else was out of sight.

“No,” she said, sitting up straighter. “I just needed a break from… that,” she added, with a vague gesture toward the lyrium.

“I don’t blame you,” Varric said. “I’m not a fan of being this close to that stuff either.” He started rummaging through a satchel hanging from his shoulder, pulling out a quill, ink, and empty book. “So… would you have some time to talk? I’d like to start cashing in on our deal.”

“Oh,” Naomi said. She hadn’t thought about what she had offered Varric in exchange for contacting Bianca in days. “Yes, yes we can do that now.”

“Fantastic,” Varric said with a grin, slipping a pair of reading glasses onto his nose and readying his quill. “Now, what was your relationship like with your mother?”

Naomi blinked. “My mother?”

Varric nodded. “That’s where everything started. Says a lot about a person.”

“Right,” Naomi muttered, the sudden mention of her family bringing up a small wave of grief. “Well, we got along for the most part, especially the older I got…”

Varric prodded and poked, asking about not just her parents, but all aspects of her childhood. Though there was some pain initially, Naomi found that she laughed more than she felt like crying, and that finally, finally she could talk about her past with fondness.

But then Varric began asking about her teenage years, and it was harder to answer him as she attempted to skirt around the private, painful parts of her adolescence. She stumbled at times, and though she suspected Varric knew she was hiding something, he didn’t push.

Until he asked when she had first kissed someone. “Well, it wasn’t on Earth,” she muttered, taking a bit of the food Bull had handed to her partway through the interview.

Varric’s quill stopped its scratching. “Cullen?” he asked incredulously.

Naomi nodded, her chewing hiding the uncomfortable grimace her face tried to make.

His eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward slightly. “Our agreement was you’d be honest with me.”

Naomi swallowed. “I am.” Then she narrowed her own eyes. “And I said I would keep some things to myself.”

Varric’s quill tapped against the parchment. “It doesn’t make sense,” he muttered, bending over to study his notes. “An outgoing, happy, pretty girl doesn’t just go her entire life without catching someone’s attention. How to explain that… with Curly it’s easy, but this…” He trailed off and looked back up at Naomi. “What are you hiding?”

“What?” Naomi sputtered. “Nothing.”

“You just said that you’re keeping things to yourself,” Varric pushed. “What haven’t you told me?”

Naomi wanted to tell him. She did. She could feel the words forming on her tongue, begging to be spoken. It was exhausting keeping this secret to herself, constantly guarding her words and ensuring she let nothing slip… it would be so much easier to just let them fall out, to give Varric the answers he wanted for his story, to explain the holes she had left in her life…

But she couldn’t. Years of keeping this secret to herself couldn’t be so easily discarded, and she recoiled from his question. It was one thing to tell her most trusted friend, and the man she let into her bed, but to tell anyone else of the pain she had suffered…

She couldn’t do it.

She knew she struggled to lie, but still she tried.

“There’s nothing,” she told Varric, forcing herself to keep her eyes on his, to impose sincerity into her tone. “I was focused on school, my hobbies, my friends… No one around me interested me, so I didn’t bother wasting my time trying to find… a relationship. I suspect others picked up that I wasn’t interested, so they left me alone. Nothing had to _happen.”_

Varric’s eyes narrowed, and Naomi tried not to wince. He’d never suggested anything had _happened_ , and here she was putting ideas into his head. She needed to leave this interview, before she revealed something she didn’t want to…

“You’re a famous writer,” Bull chimed in. Naomi blinked and looked toward the mercenary, who had been sitting and listening to the entire exchange. He nodded toward her, almost imperceptibly, then turned to grin at Varric. “And a creative one at that. Take your Tale of the Champion, for example. If I hadn’t met Hawke, I wouldn’t have guessed he wasn’t actually in a relationship with Isabela. You can make anything believable, no matter what details seem to be missing. I’m sure you can make what Naomi’s told you interesting.”

Varric grunted and sat back, once more studying his notes. He didn’t look exactly convinced, but Bull had flattered him enough to pull the heat of his questions away from Naomi.

She decided she’d had enough for the day, and stood up. “I should get back,” she told Varric, collecting her things. “We can talk again on the way back.”

“Ok, Freckles,” Varric conceded, scribbling some more into his notes. For the moment, he seemed content to puzzle together her past without any further questions or answers, so she retreated to the safety of the lyrium vein, where most seemed content to leave her alone to study.

But she couldn’t focus on the lyrium. She knew that the trauma of her assault had faded, that after so many years, and with Cullen’s help, she had largely healed. It was not the actual event that bothered her most.

It was the secret she still had to keep, the fact that she had something to hide. She could be having the most innocuous conversation, and she would find herself suddenly having to sidestep and lie, suggesting that her childhood was perfect. She could never escape it, no matter how much she had managed to work past its effects on the intimate aspects of her life.

She hated it.

But she couldn’t wallow forever. She couldn’t let this continue to hold her down. So she took a deep breath and rose to her feet. But the motion was too quick, and she was momentarily blinded as her head spun. She swayed slightly, and spread her hands to balance herself.

 _I need to sleep,_ she thought. She was exhausted, and she realized that she had likely been talking with Varric for hours. She stared at the lyrium, defeated. Hours had been wasted, and now she was too tired to do anything effective.

So she returned to the camp and found something eat, prepared for bed, and crawled into her furs.

 

* * *

 

The next morning she vomited again.

She heard more murmuring as she brushed away Dorian’s concern. She wasn’t as successful with Bull, who pulled her aside as she returned to the lyrium.

“Hey now Naomi, if you’re not feeling well, you should take a break,” he rumbled, crossing his arms and looking down at her with concern. “I know you want to help Cullen, but he wouldn’t want you to push yourself like this.”

“I already feel better,” Naomi insisted. Bianca had made another comment that morning about needing to leave soon. She was running out of time.

Bull wasn’t convinced. “You tried to brush off that amulet the first time,” he reminded her, nodding to where her hand was resting over her chest. She had placed it there unconsciously as it hummed in tandem with the lyrium.

Naomi grimaced. She knew the lyrium was affecting the amulet, the calibration in Dagna’s ring apparently thrown off by its presence, but she didn’t think it was enough to make her ill.

At least, she thought she would be fine for at least one more day.

“This isn’t like the first time,” Naomi said. “If it is the amulet, and I’m not sure it is, it’s going much slower. I can work today, I know it.”

Bull let out a heavy sigh that ended in a small growl. “Fine… but I’m watching you today. You let me know if you start to feel sick again.”

“Fine, fine,” Naomi conceded, and made her way to the lyrium. Bull followed, and settled down not far from where Naomi began her work, taking out his axe and sharpening the blade.

Naomi took several moments to stare at the lyrium, trying to decide how to approach it for the day. She had already combed over every visible inch, and didn’t think that doing so again would reveal anything new.

She started to pace, hoping for some spark of inspiration. An hour passed, then two, before she noticed toward one end of the vein of lyrium a piece of the stone wall itself was cracked. She looked closer, realizing that a sheet of the wall four inches thick was ready to fall away from the wall. A strand of lyrium grew behind it, into the stone.

She squinted, and moved as close as she dared. That tendril of lyrium disappearing behind the stone taunted her. She felt that if she could just see what was beneath it, the answer she sought might be made clear…

She caught herself extending her hand toward the wall. It wouldn’t help anything to _touch_ the lyrium and contaminate her hand and everything else she came into contact with. She balled her hand into a fist in frustration, and in doing so, felt the engagement ring on her left finger dig into her flesh.

 _Of course,_ she thought, berating herself for taking so long to remember what the ring could do. _I don’t have to touch anything at all…_

She re-extended her fingers and used them to guide her thoughts, concentrating on the mana pooled in the gems under her glove. With a deep breath she pushed some of it out, working it slowly into the crack, filling the gap with a warped, charged piece of the veil. When she could push no further she took a deep breath and pulled back, forcing a large chunk of the wall to break and slide to the ground.

It was not quiet, and the cavern echoed with the sound of breaking rocks as the slab shattered on the ground, scattering bits of rubble and lyrium across the floor. Naomi dropped her hand and stepped back in surprise, wincing as a large rock bounced into her ankle.

A much larger section of the wall had fallen than she’d anticipated, and as the dust settled she saw that nearly fifteen feet of the wall, ten feet up, had been exposed, with more veins of lyrium shining underneath.

Heart still racing, she heard a shout and turned to see Bull and Dorian running toward her, and many others in the camp scrambling as well. The Qunari and mage reached her, Bull’s axe in hand.

“What was that?” he asked, casting his eyes over the rubble. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” Naomi assured him. “I was just… trying to get to more of the lyrium. I guess I took more than I meant to…”

“What happened?” another voice demanded, and Naomi winced as Bianca angrily shouldered her way to see the destruction. “Was there a cave-in?”

“Um, no,” Naomi admitted. “I… I kind of chipped away at the rock here, trying to see more of the lyrium…”

“You did this?” Bianca accused, turning away from the lyrium to glare at Naomi. “Without taking any precautions to ensure the entire cavern didn’t collapse?”

“I… no,” Naomi said, her shoulders dropping. _Stupid, stupid, stupid…_

Bianca rubbed her temples, scowling at the ground. “I didn’t agree to bring someone so reckless here. You could have killed us all!”

“It was just a little crack,” Naomi argued. “I didn’t think…”

“No, you didn’t,” Bianca interrupted. “Small disturbances down here can become much larger than you anticipate.”

Naomi didn’t know what to say. She knew that, knew it was foolish to have tried something like that in a cavern like this, where a single rockfall could mean devastation for them all. “I’m sorry,” she said sheepishly. “I… was just… trying to see more.”

“Well you shouldn’t have,” Bianca said sharply, still glaring daggers at Naomi.

“Ok, ok,” Varric’s voice interjected, as he moved his way to Bianca’s side. He gently grabbed her arm. “There’s no harm done, so let’s just move on. Freckles won’t do it again, right?” he added, pointedly looking at Naomi.

She nodded, face burning. Bianca glared a moment longer, but then looked at Varric and pulled her arm gently free. “We will leave at the end of the day,” she said softly. “We have lingered long enough.”

Naomi wanted to argue, but had no interest in angering Bianca any further. So she watched the dwarf stalking away, trying not to cry.

“Fuck,” she whispered, covering her face with her hand. “Fuck.”

She hadn’t felt this out of her element since… since she first found herself in Thedas.

“She’s overreacting,” Dorian comforted. “No one thinks you could have collapsed the entire cavern. It was an honest mistake.”

“It _was_ reckless,” Naomi said, lowering her hand and taking a deep breath. “I feel like I can’t think down here.”

“Well, we’re ok,” Bull rumbled. “And it looks like you have some more lyrium to look over.”

Naomi looked back to the wall and nodded. Embarrassed and losing faith in her abilities, she was at least somewhat encouraged to see the new lyrium that was now exposed to her.

She picked her way over the scattered stones and peered at the lyrium. For another hour she searched, tracing every line of lyrium, growing more and more frustrated as every piece was just as healthy as those she had already seen.

But then finally, finally, nearly two hours into the search something changed. The lyrium she was inspecting was glowing just a little dimmer than the rest, and with a slightly purplish cast, a color that seemed to grow deeper as the lyrium extended deeper in into the stone. Naomi’s heart skipped, and she pressed her face closer. _Something_ was off about the lyrium, but she couldn’t quite see what.

She needed to see what was below the stone. She glanced behind her, looking around for Bianca. The dwarf was sitting by the fire, occupied by Varric. With a long breath Naomi looked back to the wall, and carefully, carefully, brushed a finger of mana-fueled veil against the stone.

Working with more finesse took longer, but eventually she began to reveal more and more of the buried vein. It grew more and more purple the further she chipped into the wall, until it was nearly black, no evidence of glowing life left.

And surrounding this dead, blackened piece of lyrium, was a sort of white, crusty growth.

“This is it,” Naomi muttered to herself, heart pounding as she scraped away more of the stone around the dead lyrium. “Something does fucking kill you…”

But before she could fully expose whatever this was killing the lyrium, a shout echoed from further down the cavern, where Dalish was keeping watch.

“Darkspawn!”

Naomi froze, fear sweeping through her body but not entirely sure how to respond to the alarm.

_Run._

_But the lyrium…_

_Run._

_I just found what I needed…_

_Run!_

_But…_

“Naomi!” a voice snapped, cutting through her uncertainty. She shook her head and backed away from the lyrium, finding everyone in the camp scrambling, and Dorian running toward her. “We need to go!” he yelled at her, stopping by her side and stuffing her things into her bag. “There are too many of them for us.”

“Too many?” Naomi asked, glancing down the cavern into the darkness. Now that she was focusing on something other than her research, she could hear noises echoing from the murky cave, sending chills down her spine. Screams and shouts and roars, accompanied by an increase in the sickly, overbearing smell of death and decay…

“Now,” he said sharply, packing away the last of her things and slinging the bag over his shoulder. Naomi hesitated one more second, not wanting to abandon her discovery. As Dorian reached to pull her arm she reached out, carving away a piece of the stone crusted with the white substance she had discovered, and took off after Dorian, spurred ahead by the increasing clamor of the unseen threat approaching them from the darkness. They moved toward the others who were retreating toward the entrance to the cavern Bianca had led them through, leaving the majority of their supplies behind.

“How did they find us?” she called out.

“It doesn’t really matter,” Dorian answered. “They just did!”

They made it to the small passage that had brought them from the Road above. Dorian encouraged Naomi through and she rushed up the stairs, catching up to Rocky as her longer legs carried her more quickly ahead. But she soon lagged, as the miles of running up through the earth took their toll. Finally, finally she reached the top, and passed Bianca, who had already opened the door that sealed them from the Roads.

Naomi was panting heavily as she entered the larger passage, and had to stop and bend to catch her breath, her stomach turning and a large stitch pinching her side. The rest of their party had stopped several yards ahead, warily watching the doorway that Bianca was guarding.

Dalish finally arrived, and Bianca quickly slammed the door shut behind her, activating the runes that locked it. Naomi continued to take deep breaths, heart pounding in her ears. Bianca jogged toward them, expression dark. “That should hold them,” she said. “But we would be advised to get as far away from here as possible.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Varric grumbled through heavy breaths, and quickly started to lead them along the road, back toward the surface.

Dorian handed Naomi her bag, then took his own pack from Bull. “You got all of your things?” he asked her. “I hope I didn’t leave anything behind in my haste.”

“No, everything’s here,” she said as she bent down and opened it up. “And look what I have!” she added excitedly holding up the stone. In the dim light of the few torches among them she could see it clearly covered with some of the white organism. “This was growing around the lyrium, killing it. And now I have a sample!” She grinned, despite the terror of what had just occurred. “I managed to get something out of all this effort.”

“That’s wonderful,” Dorian said. “I’ll admit I wasn’t looking forward to making another trek down here.”

Naomi shook her head and packed the stone away. “I don’t think I would have been able to anyway. I highly doubt Bianca would give Varric another favor like this, and I have no idea how I could convince the dwarves in Orzammar to let me search their mines. This was my chance…”

She was cut off when a loud, distant call echoed from the road behind them. Everyone froze, listening with silent breaths, tensing when the call was followed by another. The distinct cry of darkspawn.

“Shit,” Varric said before breaking into a run. “There’s more of them!”

Naomi slung her pack onto her back and sprinted with the others, though she was forced to slow her pace as the run stretched from one mile into two, their previous flight having already nearly drained her. Her side burned and she struggled to keep running, though she wasn’t the only one. Bianca also lagged behind, Varric started to falter, and even Dorian looked fatigued. But they didn’t stop, couldn’t stop, as the sounds of approaching darkspawn only grew louder.

Naomi had never heard such unnerving, unsettling noises, and her stomach churned with fear. These were the creatures that nearly destroyed Thedas again and again, the horror that children were taught to fear from the moment they were born, that men and women committed their lives to destroying. Their cries and calls for blood settled in Naomi’s very bones. They were unnatural, unholy, abominations that sought nothing but death.

She didn’t think she could make it, as they ran three, four miles. Eventually she felt nothing but the burn of her lungs and the ache in her legs, begging her to stop and rest. She felt tears leaking down her face, blurring her way forward. She stumbled and nearly fell, but felt hands on her arms pulling her up, encouraging her ahead. Bull was behind her, taking up the rear of their retreat.

“Almost there,” he encouraged her, his voice ruff from the exertion of their run. “Don’t give up.”

Naomi gave out a small, choking sob but kept moving, wiping at her eyes until she could see again.

_Don’t give up. Don’t give up…_

They would make it out of this. She would see Cullen again. She would see James, and Abigail.

When those running ahead turned toward the tunnel wall and entered the final passage that would bring them to the surface, Naomi whimpered. Close, they were so close.

And then Bull grunted in pain, and faltered behind her. Naomi stopped and turned, eyes widening in horror when she saw the arrow sticking from Bull’s shoulder, and the movement of creatures just behind them swarming in the darkness. The pounding of blood in her ears had drowned out nearly all other noise, and now she found that in the time they had been running, the darkspawn had been catching them.

Bull surged ahead with a furious grimace on his face and pushed Naomi with him. She sprinted with all she could toward the opening to the tunnel, realizing now that it was useless. There was no way for them to get out before they were overtaken by the apparently tireless darkspawn.

It _had_ been for nothing.

She reached the stairs and nearly crawled up them, legs ready to give out. Dorian was waiting several yards ahead, magic already gathered at the end of his staff, Dalish at his side, similarly ready with her bow.

“Bring it down!” Bull roared, pushed Naomi behind the mage and the elf. She collapsed on the step and watched the entrance to the tunnel, body shaking as she tried to breathe.

The ceiling above the tunnel’s entrance began to shake, loose pebbles and bits of dust falling to the ground. But the stone was solid, and it was taking too long for it to fall.

Naomi watched the first darkspawn cross the threshold, the desiccated form of what could have been a human, or an elf, snarling and lurching toward them, a rusted, spiked mace in its hand…

More pushed behind it, clambering up the stairs, and the ceiling did not fall…

Naomi couldn’t move, couldn’t bring her legs to lift her up and carry her away…

“Bring it down!” Bull yelled again, standing below the mages, his axe in hand ready to swing. Naomi could hear the desperation in his voice. It wasn’t enough...

She lifted her hand, remembering Bianca’s anger when she attempted to dig into the wall below. But her mind was too clouded to find a way to help collapse the ceiling. She instead focused the mana stored in her ring on the space between them and the darkspawn, strengthening and thickening the veil, until it swirled and shimmered in front of the leading darkspawn.

It ran into the wall, and stopped, halted in its place. It screamed, a sound that nearly drove the concentration from Naomi’s mind as fear and panic shook her bones. But dropping that wall meant certain death, and the part of her that fought and struggled to survive held on, pushing even more mana into that barrier as the darkspawn gathered behind it, pressing forward, thirsting to kill.

Naomi pushed back, gradually, foot by foot, sliding the creatures back down the stairs. Everything disappeared from her view save the sight of the darkspawn moving away, their haunting and mangled faces clamoring after her from the other side, the glow from the Veil glinting a sickly green off of their eyes and teeth.

She didn’t realize that Dorian and Dalish had succeeded until stone and rubble crashed into the tunnel, cutting off the view of the monsters below. The sound broke Naomi from her trance and she cried out from the sudden flush of energy as unused mana sprang back into her body. Her hand was shaking uncontrollably, and she brought it to her chest, clutching at the amulet humming and radiating soft warmth into her body.

She could hear people conversing around her, but couldn’t make out anything specifically that was said. The shift from dire peril to safety was so swift, and her body had not yet adjusted, as fear and adrenaline still flowed freely through her.

A shape descended on her and knelt by her side. She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned toward the touch. Skinner’s face was highlighted by a torch, and she grinned. “Good trick there,” she congratulated. “We almost had a hell of a fight on our hands.”

She was too cheerful. Naomi felt like vomiting.

“Well done,” Bianca’s smooth voice cut through. She nodded at Dorian and Dalish, then at Naomi. “This tunnel is normally quiet. It was unlucky that this many darkspawn were passing through while we were here. This won’t hold forever, but it will give us the chance to get out. We will need to collapse the tunnel again at the surface.”

“Sure thing,” Dorian said between gasps, and Naomi could see the sweat dripping down his face. “I’d rather not lead that horde to the surface.”

“Come then,” Bianca said. “We should not delay.”

Skinner helped Naomi to her feet, where she steadied her wobbly legs by reaching out to the wall. The last thing she wanted to do was move, much less climb more steps, but she knew there was no choice. Not if they wanted to get as far away from the darkspawn as possible. She could still hear their screams, muffled through the stone, causing her stomach to roil with fear.

Naomi found herself walking next to Bianca at one point during their ascent. For several moments they walked in silence, both still recovering from their flight.

Then Bianca cleared her throat. “I hope you found what you were looking for.”

Naomi thought of the shard of rock nestled somewhere in her pack, and despite the frustration and disappointment of the last few days, felt a shred of hope.

“I think I did…” She turned to the dwarf, the woman who had made this possible, and nodded. “Thank you.”


	9. Chapter 8 - Welcome to Stone-Bear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How many months has it been? Sorry for the delay y'all!

They traveled for three days after defeating the ice giants, traversing even more of the Frostback Basin, admittedly more efficiently than James’s from Skyhold had been. The Avvar knew their homeland, and with Abigail tirelessly clearing the snow in their path, they made good time.

At least, until Finn began to falter. He tried to hide it, but James could see him one night at camp changing the bandages over his wound. It had begun to fester, and exchanging the dressing once a day did not seem to be holding the infection at bay. Abigail fluttered over him, cleaning what she could while ordering others to find fresh herbs. Her expression remained stony and impassive, but James knew she had to be worried.

Still, Finn pushed ahead, and they passed through several settlements on the way, small collections of huts inhabited by Avvar families that worked the land or gathered other materials from the forests and rivers. Finn and his troop were greeted warmly, and some small celebration usually broke out when they were informed of the giants’ demise. Abigail was there in the midst of it all, thanked and revered by everyone they met. She smiled and doled out blessings, seeming to relish the praises showered on her. Then she quickly returned to Finn’s side, ushering him to sit and rest.

James and Krem stayed back whenever they approached these settlements, waiting to be introduced. They were regarded with some suspicions at first, but after a few words from Finn, most were suddenly very intent on approaching James, peering into his eyes with curiosity.

James gave Abigail distance, though she kept to herself anyway. He had seen the way she looked at him when he and Krem joined the Avvar column as they started back to the hold. She was ready to snap, and James wasn’t in the mood for more arguments.

Still, James didn’t need to talk to Abigail to get an idea of what her life had been like. He saw the small, mean huts the Avvar built, and the work they had to put in to make a living from the land. They were not a wealthy people, and though he did not think them impoverished, they were likely no strangers to lean times.

But Stone-bear Hold was not what he expected. He knew their main settlement would be larger, but he was not prepared for the sprawling complex they found tucked into the cliffs against a vast lake surrounded by mountains. The place bustled with people, who all dropped their work with shouts of greeting when they arrived. Word spread ahead of them, and by the time they entered the center of the hold crowds pressed against their way, making it more difficult to see the buildings around them.

Most of the hunters peeled off as they found friends or family among the crowds, but Finn led James and Krem, along with Abigail, toward a large, round building flush against a cliff in the center of the settlement. James watched the woman standing in front of the doorway as they drew closer, her heavy winter furs pulled over her head, obscuring most of her features. She raised her hand in greeting when Finn approached, and nodded to Abigail. Her eyes turned to James and Krem, and a single gray brow rose in question.

“Thane, tervehdymme sinua,” Finn said, a light sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead. “Metsästys oli menestys. Kolme jään jättiläistä surmattiin vuoristossa. Heidän ei pitäisi enää häiritä ihmisiä.

The woman’s eyes slid from James back to Finn. “That is good to hear,” she replied in Common. “Come,” she beckoned inside the building behind her. “Let us talk.”

Finn looked back at James and jerked his chin toward the door, encouraging him forward. James glanced at Abigail, who glowered at him before ducking inside. James let out a long sigh and followed her, blinking once he entered the dark, smoky interior.

When the tears had cleared from his eyes he looked more closely around him, noting first the large stone chair directly opposite the door. The older woman was settling down, a large, gaping skeletal jaw with long, needle-like teeth centered above her head. It had to be some sort of fish, James decided, but what species reached that size he couldn’t say. A fire burned in the center of the building, and torches lined the walls, casting warm light over the interior. The room was otherwise unadorned.

Abigail approached the woman and bowed her head slightly, murmuring a low greeting that James couldn’t understand. The older woman smiled, and reached to take one of Abigail’s hands between hers, returning the greeting warmly. Abigail drew away and took a place off to the side of the room, her arms crossed and eyes purposefully averted from James.

“I see you have not returned from your hunt alone,” the seated woman said, pulling James’ attention back. She was addressing Finn, but her eye were trained on him.

“These lowlanders are from the Inquisition,” Finn said. “We found them travelling in the Basin. These two assisted us with our hunt, while the rest of their party journeyed elsewhere.”

“The Inquisition,” the woman mused, leaning slightly forward in her seat. “We have heard tales in our trading of your feats. I thank you for assisting our people. You have guest-welcome here. I am Svarah Sun-Hair, Thane of Stone-Bear Hold.”

James cleared his throat. “Thank you. I am James Westerkamp… Lieutenant James Westerkamp. This is Cremisius Aclassi.”

Krem raised his hand. “You can just call me Krem.”

Svarah nodded. “You and your people have come far from the safety of the lowlands.”

James waited for more, but the ever lengthening pause demanded an answer. “We came to research something in the valley,” he finally said.

“Are you with the professor from Orlais?” Svarah asked. “If I recall he was here investigating something related to the Inquisition.”

James frowned, and shook his head. “No… I wasn’t aware someone else was conducting research here.”

“They came to enter the Deep Roads,” Abigail said. James turned his eyes quickly toward her, glaring. They hadn’t exactly asked her to stay quiet, but he’d hoped that she had picked up on the sensitivity of their mission. “They were interested in the lyrium that can be found there.”

“Lyrium…” Svarah mulled over the word. “Are you interested in mining it? I know you lowlanders have a fascination with the stuff.” There was a hard edge to her voice that James didn’t like.

“No, no that’s not why we’re here,” James said carefully. “We just want samples.”

Svarah studied him for a moment, then nodded and leaned back in her chair. “Good.” Her eyes shifted to Abigail. “Now, you say the rest of this party is in the Deep Roads. Are they coming here when their task is complete?”

Abigail’s eyes stormed, and James felt her anger though she was not currently looking at him. “Yes,” she finally muttered through gritted teeth.

A flicker of confusion crossed Svarah’s face at the venom in her tone, but she looked back to James, seeming to ignore Abigail’s displeasure. “You are welcome to stay in our hold until your companions arrive. Do you know how long they will be?”

James rubbed the back of his head. “Um, a few days… I’m not sure.”

“Very well,” Svarah said. “Kima!” she called, and a short, dark haired woman ducked into the tent. She glanced around the room, before turning to Svarah.

“Yes?”

“Find our visitors a place to stay,” Svarah said, then turned to James and Krem. “You will dine with me tonight, along with several others of the hold. I am sure many will have questions of your travels.”

James nodded. “Of course, thank you.”

Kima led them from the tent, followed by Finn. But before Abigail could leave Svarah stopped her. “Abigail, pysytkö hetkeksi?”

Abigail stopped in her tracks, and James heard her let out a single, frustrated sigh before he was once more in the open air, a light breeze tickling the hair against his neck.

The crowds had dispersed, though those still nearby threw curious glances at James and Krem. James tried to pay them no attention, and instead watched Finn as he approached a dark-skinned man with tightly curled hair, dressed in leather breeches and a sort of short vest that left most of his broad chest bare even in the cool air.

“Finn!” the man called, spreading his arms and approaching with a wide smile. “Joten jättiläiset eivät onnistuneet tekemään sinut!”

Finn opened his own arms in welcome, responding warmly in their language. The other man chuckled, then said something that ended in what suspiciously sounded like Abigail’s name. James perked up his ears as the newcomer pulled Finn into a warm hug.

But it was cut short when Finn let out a strangled grunt of pain, and sagged in the other man’s arms. He held Finn up, but it was clear Finn was losing what strength he had left to the infection. The man exclaimed out worriedly, motioning for someone else to approach. Finn protested, attempting to stand and brush off his friend’s aid. The other man responded with a scolding tone, and began leading Finn away—

Kima cleared her throat, drawing James’s attention back. She started to walk, leading them through the settlement toward their lodgings, and James lost track of Finn and his companion.

Now that the crowds had dispersed, James could see more of the hold. As they climbed up stairs and levels of the cliffside, he caught glimpses of intricate, stylized animal-like carvings everywhere, animal-like statues nestled between buildings and designs etched into cliff walls. They were unlike anything he had ever seen, on Earth or Thedas, attesting even further to the foreign world his sister now called home. And though he had spent days with the hunting party, it was strange to see the rest of the Avvar now, dressed and variously undressed in furs and rough fabrics, leading mundane lives. There were children and their parents, laypeople living as if the rest of the world didn’t exist. James had felt as if he’d taken several steps back in time when he landed in Thedas, but Abigail had been living outside the reach of any sort of developed civilization for years.

Kima brought them to a small hut pushed flush against a cliff wall. It was simple, but clean, with three beds pushed against the rough wooden paneled walls. A few paintings adorned the inner walls, and the doorframe was carved with the rough shapes of bears intertwined with grasping vines.

“Food will be served at dusk,” Kima told them. Her eyes swept over their battle-stained armor. “I can bring you something clean to wear, if you require it.”

James glanced down at his body and cleared his throat. He had packed for hard days of travel, not attending feasts. “Yes… I believe that would be good.”

Kima nodded and left them alone. Krem dropped his packs down on one of the beds, and sat down and started to remove his boots. “Well, this place is certainly something,” he said, shaking a rock from one of the boots. “A much more welcoming group than those first Avvar we came across.”

“Yeah…” James mused, studying more closely one of the carvings on the wall. “This isn’t what I expected to find here.”

“It’s not bad,” Krem said, standing now and pulling off his armor. “I can see why your sister doesn’t want to leave.”

James frowned. Krem was right, and it just made it harder for him to justify convincing her to leave.

Someone rapped sharply on the door, and Kima once more stuck her head inside the hut. She held up a bundle of clothing. “Here are some clean clothes. They are not in the lowlander style.”

“That’s fine,” Krem said, approaching the woman and taking the furs, homespun cloths, and leather from her hands. “Thank you.”

He spread out the clothes on his bed, inspecting what was brought to them. James joined him, and grabbed a pair of breeches and a tunic that looked like they would fit him. He stripped from his armor, and in the process of changing caught a glimpse of Krem. He was putting on some sort of cloth and leather vest, wrapped tightly around his chest. James stared for a moment, trying to decipher why he would be wearing such a thing.

“I made it myself,” Krem said, and James realized he had been caught staring. “Wrapping bandages was too painful after a while, but I can wear this all day without any problems,” he continued. “Plus, I can sculpt much more easily with the binder.”

“Right…” James mumbled, not entirely following what Krem was talking about. The vest was sturdier than underclothes, and it did seem as if Krem’s flesh was pressed deliberately beneath it. He had a thought, and James realized Krem’s waist dipped just a little more than he expected, in a familiar way…

The revelation hit and James’s eyes widened. “ _Right_ ,” he repeated, wondering how he could have missed that perhaps Krem’s body wasn’t entirely physically like other men’s. “Right,” he said again, turning back to his clothes and continuing to put them on, his mind still reeling from his realization. This whole time, Krem had been… well no, not what first came to James’s mind. Krem had been Krem. Krem _was_ Krem, and just because he wore this binder to make himself look more like a man didn’t really change anything.

“You didn’t know,” Krem said, and James looked back toward him. He was dressed, covering all signs of the binder underneath.

“Um… well no,” James replied, finding his eyes wandering to try and see if he could detect anything different about Krem, now that he knew. But he snapped his eyes back up and shook his head slightly. _It doesn’t matter,_ he told himself. “But you know… it’s fine. I don’t care or anything,” he added. “Seriously, don’t worry about me…”

“James,” Krem interrupted, smirking slightly and holding up a hand. “Calm down. You’re fine. I honestly thought you already knew, I didn’t mean to surprise you.”

“It wasn’t… a surprise…” James cleared his throat. “Sorry, no… It was a surprise, but… you know…” He closed his eyes. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I suck at this.” He’d never met anyone like Krem before, and he was afraid to mess something up…

“You’re doing fine,” Krem assured him. “Just… this doesn’t have to change anything.”

James opened his eyes and nodded. “Of course not. And again… sorry I suck.”

Krem chuckled and moved toward the door. “Oh don’t worry, yours is far from the worst reaction I’ve encountered.” He turned before exiting. “I’m going for a walk. See you at dinner.”

James took a moment longer before leaving himself, repeating _nothing has to change_ until he thought he believed it. He had his own desire to see more of the hold, and he wanted to find Abigail. Whatever her problem was… it needed to stop.

He moved through the different levels of the hold, trying to take in as much as he could without staring too obviously. But he wasn’t the only one satisfying their curiosity. Everyone he passed at least glanced his way. Most openly stared. And whispered amongst themselves. It left James with a crawling feeling at the back of his neck.

He couldn’t help but stare back. Now that everyone had returned back to their daily tasks, he could get a better idea of what life among the Avvar was like. It didn’t seem that different from life in Skyhold, he decided. Everyone had their tasks, whether it was preparing food, or processing leathers to make armor, or minding children, or tending to people’s wounds. The level of technology was certainly less than he was now accustomed to, but really, things weren’t as different as he had initially thought.

He couldn’t find Abigail anywhere. He thought perhaps it was because there were several areas of the hold he didn’t think he should enter, as they were either walled off or… guarded by some of the more intimidating members of the hold.

Finally he saw one of the warriors he had traveled with, and approached him to see if he had any idea where his sister could be. The warrior was a little taken aback when James approached, but stopped long enough to point up a path James hadn’t quite climbed.

“She’s probably with the augur,” he explained. “She usually spends some time praying to the gods after a hunt.”

James thanked him and moved on, climbing the steps. He passed several buildings, but finally came across a larger building that looked relatively more important than the rest. He hesitated outside the door. If Abigail really was praying, he didn’t want to intrude, even though he was curious about these “gods” she had decided to embrace after only two years in this world.

Before he could talk himself into knocking, a door to one of the smaller huts surrounding the larger building opened. Abigail stepped out, dressed in her loose pants and leather breast band. Her hair was pulled out of its braid and her face was flushed pink. The man James recognized as Finn’s friend from below followed her from the hut, his chest now entirely bare.

Abigail stopped when she saw James, her eyes narrowing and flashing green with anger. “What are you doing here?” she growled.

“I was just looking for you,” James responded, eying the man behind her. He was studying James, one of his hands resting on the doorframe. “I thought maybe we could finally, you know, we could get a chance to talk.”

Abigail turned toward the man. “Tapaan sinut sisälle, Ivar.” The man nodded and brushed past her into the large building behind them. She looked toward James when Ivar was gone and shook her head. “No.”

The abruptness of her response took him back, and he didn’t collect himself to say anything until she had started to walk past him. “Wait,” he said. “Come on…”

“I have to pray,” she said shortly.

“You haven’t done that yet?”

She stopped, and glanced at him, her eyes narrowing further. There were so green, reminding him of Naomi when the amulet was unchecked. “No.”

James let out a frustrated breath. “Well, what about after?”

Her expression relaxed somewhat, but she shook her head. “We are not going to talk, lowlander,” she said with finality. “You will stay until your sister returns, and then you will leave.” She turned to follow Ivar into the large building behind them.

Something in James snapped, and he moved to follow her. “She’s your sister too!” he yelled, reaching to stop and turn her around. “And she’s going to be here in a few days desperate to have you… act a little like our sister too! Fuck Abigail, I’m trying here! I get why you were angry at first, but fuck, now you’re just being ridiculous!”

Abigail turned on him, and James found himself scrambling back as fire flickered around her fingers. Her eyes glowed even brighter, shedding green light on her cheeks. They dimmed in the next heartbeat, but James’s heart raced.

It wasn’t right.

“It matters not what you once were. She is of Stone-Bear Hold now. She is not coming with you. There is no reason to reconnect with those she will not see again. Your presence unnecessarily complicates our life, and I count the days until you are gone.”

James wanted to rage. He wanted to yell and scream and argue until she finally gave in, admitted that she was being difficult and ridiculous and to just… act like she was supposed to.

But he was more afraid. Fire was still licking around her fingers, and her eyes were far too green. And the way she talked, referring to herself as if she… was someone else.

This was more than fade-touched, and his mind turned to the little cat-like spirit that had sat in her lap in the Fade. It suddenly seemed far from harmless, and James realized more than his own life was in danger when he antagonized his sister.

He took a step back and raised his hand slightly. “Ok,” he said gently, making it clear that he was backing away. “Fine,” he continued, and stepped back again. “I’m sorry, I’ve just… missed you. But if you want me to leave… then fine.” He took a deep breath and lowered his hands to his sides. Abigail had yet to move, which he took as a good sign. “We’ll be gone in a few days, out of your hair.”

The fire faded from Abigail’s hands, but her eyes did not dim. “Goodbye lowlander,” she said, and it felt final. She turned and entered the building, leaving James with a racing heart and reeling mind.

He rushed back to his own room, thankful to find Krem already there. The mercenary looked up from where he was rummaging through his pack. “Get a chance to talk to Abigail?”

James groaned and rubbed his hand over his face. Everything was going wrong, and he had no idea what to do. “I talked to… something. But it definitely wasn’t my sister.”

  

* * *

 

 James approached the feast that night with trepidation. He’d told Krem what had happened with Abigail, and what he suspected. They’d combined what little knowledge they had of mages and spirits, and come to several conclusions.

First, Abigail was most likely possessed. James was convinced of that. He knew it was expected that she would change over the last years, but this was far beyond that. The violence, the anger, the green in her eyes… none of it was her.

Second, he needed to back down. He realized now how dangerous it was to antagonize Abigail, or rather this demon. He could end up getting her killed. A part of him, which he immediately tried to stamp down, was afraid it already had. Wasn’t that how possession worked? But he refused to accept that before he learned more. There _had_ been moments when she seemed more herself.

Third… they had no idea what to do. Neither he nor Krem were trained in magic, but from what James did know, it was absolutely terrible to be possessed. It was literally the worst thing that could happen to a mage. It was life or death… mages were locked up and killed because of it.

They needed to buy time, to calm this demon down so it would cause no more harm, before deciding what they would do. And they needed help.

Krem was surprisingly calm about the revelation. While James had spilled all his fears on Krem in their room, the other man just sat on his bed, stony faced and quiet. It was only when James was done did Krem say anything, and it was to suggest that they fully give Abigail space, and to use the remaining days before the others arrived to learn as much as they could.

So they went to the feast as planned, though now James intended to keep a low profile. He didn’t want to do anything that the demon possessing his sister could interpret as threatening. She needed to think that he was really backing down, that he was accepting that Abigail would stay with the Avvar.

His stomach flipped when he saw Abigail, sitting next to Svarah at one of the low tables that had been set up. He wasn’t close enough to see if her eyes were more green than gray, or if that demon still had a hold on her. The man, Ivar, he had seen her with earlier was sitting across from her, and at her other side was another unfamiliar man. Finn was nowhere to be seen.

Kima arrived and led James and Krem to the same table, though they were sitting on a different end. _All the better,_ James thought. It would be easier to avoid saying something wrong. They barely had time to get themselves settled before another body was squeezing himself into the seat next to James. He took a double-take, realizing that the newcomer was not Avvar.

“Hello!” the man said cheerfully, holding out his hand for James to shake. He was wearing a ridiculous hat and fine embroidered clothing, and James was taken aback by the contrast he served next to the Avvar. “I’m Bram Kenric, professor from the University of Orlais. Am I correct in assuming you are from the Inquisition?”

“Um, yes,” James replied, trying not to stare at his clothes, which seemed completely inappropriate for the wilderness. “Can I help you?”

“Oh, I hope so!” exclaimed Kenric, leaning in closer. “I have come here to learn more about the first Inquisitor, and I believe your current Inquisitor could help me!”

James glanced at Krem, who was ignoring him and staring down toward the other end of the table instead. “Um, I’m not sure…” he hedged.

“You see I’ve found these belt buckles!” Kenric continued, seeming too excited to see James’s uncertainty. “Everyone believes the first Inquisitor’s story is closed, but I am not so sure!”

“Ok…” James responded. “I’m not sure what I can do…”

“Just bring this to your Inquisitor,” Kenric said, pressing a letter toward James’s hand. “I explain everything. All I request is a small investment so I can send for my assistants and additional supplies. I am certain this endeavor will be most worthwhile… but I don’t need to explain everything here. It’s all outlined in the letter!”

The man was kooky, but James didn’t see the harm in delivering a letter. “Sure, I can bring this back to Skyhold.” He took the letter.

“Excellent!” the professor exclaimed, his energy not seeming to dissipate as time went on. Platters of roasted meats and root vegetables, bowls of seasoned grains and dried fruits were brought to the table, interrupting any continuation of the conversation. No one touched the food so James sat back and watched the others, his mouth starting to water as the scents wafted toward him. Just as his stomach started to rumble Svarah stood, followed by a ripple of quiet as conversation died throughout the clearing.

“Welcome!” she called out in Common. “We have gathered to celebrate the return of our hunters, successful once more in their sweep of the basin to remove the spirits brought through the torn sky. They have also quashed the ice giant threat, with the help of our guests, James and Krem of the Inquisition.” Some murmurs travelled through the crowd gathered as she gestured toward them, and James sat a little straighter. Abigail glowered.

A tall man with rich brown skin sitting next to Abigail stood and rested a hand on her shoulder. The thick furs covering his body just added to his imposing form, as did the skull of what might have been a bear resting on his head. “Abigail Lähettänainen, along with our brave hunters, has once more ensured our basin is safe, for now. Let us eat and be merry, knowing that our Lady watches over us in these trying times.”

Everyone cheered, including Kenric, then turned to diligently loading platters with food and pouring drink. James waited to fill his own.

“What was that they called Abigail?” James asked Krem. The mercenary shrugged, his platter already half filled.

“Lähettänainen?” Kenric asked, piling a steaming mess of grains on his plate.

“Yeah, that.”

“It is her legend-mark,” Kenric explained, turning to a roasted bird. He began carving out chunks of meat. “It could translate to…’Lady-Sent’.” He held up a piece of meat. “Would you like some?”

James nodded, mulling over the information as Kenric filled his platter. “And what does that mean exactly?”

Kenric stopped collecting food, his gaze becoming distant. “Among the Avvar, those who perform fantastic deeds are often given legend-marks to distinguish them. For example, Svarah’s legend mark is Sun-Hair because she once fought a battle with her hair on fire.”

“And Abigail?” Krem asked.

“That is somewhat more complicated,” Kenric said, turning now to eat his food. “The hold believes she was sent by the Lady through the rifts that were opened by the Breach. In addition, they believe she is the reincarnation of their progenitor, Tyrdda Bright-Ax. Her very existence warranted a legend-mark.”

“Wait, they think she’s a _specific_ person?” James asked. Abigail had already told him much of this, but hearing more of the details, and seeing the way the hold treated her, just enforced in James how deeply she was ingrained in this lie.

“Oh yes, one of their most important ancestors.”

 “And who is the ‘Lady’?” Krem asked.

“The Lady of the Skies. One of their deities,” Kenric explained. “She has dominion over the skies, as well as ushering the dead to the beyond. She is second only to the Mountain Father in importance.”

“And do you believe Abigail was sent by her?” Krem asked. He was once more staring at Abigail.

“I suppose anything is possible,” Kenric mused. “However, I believe it is nothing more than superstition imposed on a poor girl who wandered too close to a rift. She is an exceptionally powerful mage, however, and has helped them for years suppress the demons that accumulate as the rifts are left unchecked. She has certainly earned her mark, no matter the truth.”

“We definitely saw how powerful she is with the giants,” Krem commented.

They turned to their food. James sampled the more familiar looking dishes, answering Kenric’s questions about the Inquisition and the part they had played in defeating Corypheus. The professor was especially excited to learn just how close James was to the Inquisitor, seemingly more convinced that his request would now be granted. Others around them listened as well, asking their own questions, apparently hungry for firsthand information of what had been happening in the wider world.

James watched Abigail through it all. She ate and talked and laughed as if nothing was wrong, never looking in his direction. She looked like she belonged, but James wondered now whether it was just the demon. What did _Abigail_ want, if she had the choice?

As the meal drug on into the evening, people started to move, swapping seats to talk to different friends, still picking at the now cold food and drinking the liquor and ale that still flowed. Kenric had excused himself not long after finishing his own food, and James was contemplating leaving as well, getting chilled in the cold night air, when Svarah shifted herself to their end of the table.

“I hope you enjoyed a taste of our delicacies,” she said, nodding in appreciation at their empty platters.

“Everything was very good,” James assured her, glad Kenric had offered to finish off the few things he hadn’t quite had the stomach for. “Thank you.”

“You should see our summer feasts. The end of winter leaves us with a limited selection.”

“We couldn’t tell,” Krem offered.

“I heard some of your tales during the meal,” Svarah said to James. “The Inquisition is fortunate you were sent to them to offer your aid.”

“I wasn’t ‘sent’,” James replied.

“You are Suosi,” Svarah said simply. “The mark is in your eyes. You were sent back by the Lady to aid the lowlanders. Though you would not know that living among them.”

Right, his eyes. Abigail had already explained the lie she had told the Avvar to cover the way she had greeted him and Naomi. He didn’t want to play along with her ruse, but considering the current circumstances, he had no other choice. 

“Ah, yes, right,” he agreed with a nod. “I’ll admit much about my life didn’t make sense, but here… things are more clear.”

Svarah nodded back. “The danger was great, for you to be born among the lowlanders. But it seems that the danger has since been destroyed?”

“Yes. Ness— Our Inquisitor defeated the monster who created the Breach.”

“But still the tears persist in our Basin. Our hunters spend far too much of their time tracking down spirits that are twisted and corrupted in the journey. I hear tales your Inquisitor closes these wounds with a powerful magic.”

“Yeah, Nassella can close the rifts.”

“Would she come here?” Svarah asked. “My mind would rest easier if these ‘rifts’ were gone. They endanger everyone.”

James began to nod, but Krem interjected. “Our Inquisitor is incredibly busy. There are many demands on her time.”

James flicked his eyes toward Krem. “Still, I’m sure she will be happy to help,” he told Svarah. Besides, it would give them an excuse to return to the Avvar, and Abigail. Hopefully with help. “I will talk to her when we return.”

“We will at least try,” Krem added again.

Svarah’s lips drew into a thin line. “That is all I can ask,” she said, then stood. “I bid you a good night.”

When she was gone James glared at Krem. “What was that about? Of course Ness will come out and close the rifts.”

Krem glanced around, finding that they were alone. He lowered his voice. “Well yeah… but maybe we can convince Svarah that she won’t, at least not on our word. Then maybe she’ll want to send someone to plead their case.”

James followed Krem’s line of thought. He nodded slowly. “You want to get her to send Abigail?”

“She’s apparently important to them. I’ll doubt Svarah will want to leave, but she’ll probably be willing to send Abigail. And once we get Abigail to Skyhold—”

“We can get help for her,” James concluded. He nodded. “Ok… yeah, I like that. But Abigail won’t,” he continued. “That demon might do something to her if it has to spend any more time with me and Naomi.”

Krem chewed on his lip. “Well it’s either that or leave her here with that thing, alone.”

James closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Not an option.”

“We won’t suggest that Svarah send someone then,” Krem said. “Especially not with Abigail around. Hopefully what I said now will be enough.”


	10. Chapter 9 - Meetings

Grand Cleric Iona reached out and placed the heavy, intricately embroidered shroud around Leliana’s shoulders. Once secured on the pale woman’s body she turned and picked up the tall sloping hat adorned with the golden burst of the Chantry sun. Carefully, Iona placed the miter on Leliana’s head, completing the final transformation of the bard, Chantry Sister, and Inquisition spymaster into the new Divine.

“Rise,” Iona called out, so that all those gathered in the Orlesian cathedral could hear. “Greet your children, Most Holy, our Divine Victoria.”

Cheers rose up from the gathered clerics, Sisters, Mothers, and laypeople gathered to witness the ascension of their new Divine. Leliana… _Victoria_ raised her arms, one of them gripping a golden scepter. The noise slowly quieted, and the new Divine looked over the surrounding crowds with a soft smile on her full lips. Nassella strained her ears with the rest gathered, eager to hear what she would say.

“My children,” Lel… Victoria said, barely raising her voice, though it carried through the echoing chamber. “It is a new day, years after our beloved Divine Justinia was taken so tragically from us. The continent has been in turmoil since then, but I have worked tirelessly alongside the Inquisition to bring peace. We have finally realized that goal, and I am thankful that Inquisitor Lavellan is here today, as I continue to support her and her Inquisition as they work to keep peace.”

Nassella felt eyes turn toward her as a cheers rose from the crowds. It wasn’t as loud as those Leliana had received, but still, it spoke to the support Nassella still had in this room. She tried to look pleased, or at least pleasant, her ears burning slightly as she waited for the eyes to turn back to the front.

Nassella could see Iona seething behind Le… Victoria. She remembered they had needed to deal with the Grand Cleric just over a year ago, as the woman attempted to garner the support of the Grand Consensus to ascend the Sunburst Throne herself. They feared she would return to opposing the Inquisition, greatly weakening their ability to fight Corypheus. Josephine had used political maneuvering to undermine the woman, and Nassella had no doubt she still resented them and their meddling.

Still, she stood quietly in the back as Leliana continued her speech, further laying out her plans for the future of the Chantry. “As we move forward I hope to lead us into a new era of peace and cooperation, beginning with an end to the Circle of Magi. No more will the Chantry control the mages of our world. Instead they will govern themselves, free to teach, learn, and police their own numbers, so that never again will mages feel abused as prisoners, and our countries will not be brought once more to their knees by war.”

Gasps rang through the cathedral, followed by the whispers of hundreds of voices. Nassella could feel the uncertainty, and even rage, bubbling through the room. She turned to Josephine, standing by her side, and whispered. “So that’s it? No more Circles? She can do that?”

Josephine’s eyes were wide, but she nodded. “The Circles were a branch of the Chantry. As Divine, Victoria can solely decide their fate… though I am certain she will meet resistance.”

“Well, they were already fallen,” Nassella added, watching L… Victoria as she calmly waited for the chatter to subside. “This just means she won’t do anything to bring them back?”

“Yes,” Josephine agreed. “It is easier for her, since they have already been scattered. Still, I am sure many expected them to return, now that the war is over.”

The room had quieted somewhat, and so the new Divine continued. “With the Circles disbanded, we can once more return to focus on our original purpose; charity. The Chantry will ensure that all under the Maker’s gaze are cared for and know that they are loved. This includes, first and foremost, that those of all races are welcome at the Maker’s side, and may serve him in the priesthood, from Sisters to Mothers to Divine.”

The outbursts this time were angrier and louder, with individual voices rising above the din in protest. Still, there were also cheers and applause, support that Nassella hadn’t expected. Not everyone disagreed with the direction their new Divine appeared to be taking. They had elected her, after all.

“The Maker will guide us forward,” the Divine eventually managed to say. “We will be stronger after the tragedy of these past few years, and I pray that we will be led into the light. Now, let us praise the Maker.”

With that a choir began to sing, filling the Chantry with their sweet harmonies. Victoria retreated slightly and stood in front of the Sunburst Throne, raising her voice with the others. Nassella just listened, unfamiliar with the tune or the words, trying not to be overwhelmed by the sights and sounds around her. The Chantry was so richly decorated, over-the-top in presentation and foreign to her own tastes. She was no stranger to ceremony or spectacle, but this service could not compare to her own Dalish rituals.

Not that she was attending any Dalish rituals in those days, or planning to. She had been distanced from such things for so long, rarely stopping to pray or worship in her own way. And after Solas’s revelations she had no intention of beginning again.

She felt a void, however, as she listened to the Andrastians around her praising their Maker. The events of the past year had certainly tested their faith, but it was not shattered as hers had been. If anything, her work to ensure that Corypheus fell and the world returned to peace, all while leading the Inquisition, a product of the Chantry, had ensured that the Chantry remained strong. She had even played a role in electing Leliana as Divine, voicing her support for her spymaster.

But Solas had ruined any chance she had of returning to her own faith with his admissions of what her gods had been, and what the Dalish still unknowingly revered. Her faith was soiled, and she didn’t think anything could wash it clean.

Not even Mahanon, who had returned to her life and swiftly rejected what she had told him. She still struggled to decide what she would do with the information. Would others believe her, or would they react as her clansman, and cling even more firmly to their beliefs? Was there even a point to bringing up this painful history? Could she really be responsible for taking away a part of the Dalish that brought them such joy, as this hymn now uplifted the worshipers around her?

The hymn ended and the ceremony closed. Divine Victoria retreated behind a door at the back of the Chantry, followed by several Revered Mothers and Grand Clerics. The congregation began to wander out the back of the Chantry, voices and snippets of conversation falling on Nassella’s ears as they discussed their new Divine’s vision. Most were not positive.

“Well, Divine Victoria is certainly holding nothing back,” Josephine murmured quietly. “Just one of these changes would rock the Chantry, but to focus on all at once…” She shook her head and let out a little sigh. “I fear she will not find things easy in her new position.”

Nassella took a deep breath and nodded, watching as nobles and commoners of all races alike exited the cathedral. They should have realized, in hindsight, just how ambitious Leliana was planning on being, since she had invited all to the anointment, regardless of race or station. “I’m sure Leliana knows what she is doing… she never takes risks that are not calculated.”

“You are right, of course,” Josephine responded. “I just worry for her, that is all. Even when I don’t need to be.”

“I didn’t say we shouldn’t worry,” Nassella said. “I’m not Andrastian and even I can see these are big changes. I just think Leliena, er, Victoria must have plans.”

“I’m sure she will require assistance from us,” Josephine added, beginning to move toward the exit. “She has publically continued the Chantry’s support of the Inquisition. That will not come without cost.”

Nassella rubbed her temple as she followed Josephine. She wasn’t exactly thrilled to continue working with the Chantry, but she supposed it might be simpler, now that Leliana was in charge. And there were enough difficulties to face, it was nice not to add tension with the Chantry to that list.

They passed through the doorway to the open air. Spring was further along in the Orlesian capital than in the Frostbacks, and the scent of fresh blossoms permeated the warm air. Still, something in the magic of Skyhold meant the season there wasn’t far behind, and by the time they returned it would likely be just as new and green within the fortress’s walls. Josephine guided them around the Chantry to a secluded garden. They walked amongst the fresh greenery and flowers, meandering randomly along the paths, until it was no longer random and they were in a small gazebo, sitting across from the Empress Celene.

Her ladies in waiting curtseyed deeply when Nassella entered, then carefully filed outside. The Empress smiled, inclining her head in welcome. “Inquisitor, Ambassador, it is a pleasure to see you.”

Nassella curled up her lips in a small, polite smile. “The pleasure is ours, Empress. Thank you for seeing us.”

“Of course. Ze banquet zis evening will be far too crowded for substantial conversation.”

Nassella nodded, trying to remember Josephine’s coaching. Gently probe, but keep the conversation light. This was their chance to learn what the woman was really thinking, but there were still limits to how far they could push. “I trust that you have been well. How are you and Gaspard working together?”

Celene chuckled softly. “He is difficult, as usual, but his cooperation is far preferred over ze war of ze last few years.”

“That is good to hear,” Nassella responded. “I feared he would be more of a problem.”

Celene still smiled. “He is far too cunning to make himself troublesome zis early in our alliance.”               

Nassella glanced at Josephine, then back. “So you believe he will make himself troublesome?”

“Perhaps,” Celene murmured, her eyes wandering out over the garden. “He was never built for sharing power.”

“And what happens when he decides he no longer wants to share power?”

Celene’s eyes slipped back to hers. “Nothing you would disapprove of, I’m sure.”

Nassella smiled, though it felt strained. She knew she was in over her head trying to force Celene and Gaspard to work together. Celene was dangerous, and though she was playing along for now, Nassella knew she was not the more skilled opponent.

Luckily, she had Josephine on her side. “Your country is still recovering,” her ambassador interjected, “and Gaspard has many supporters. You cannot afford another conflict.”

Celene looked to Josephine, ice in her eyes. “I’m sure with the supplies ze Inquisition has sent, we will soon have no need to worry about Orlais’ recovery.”

Nassella clenched her fists. It was good to know the aid the Inquisition had sent had been noticed, but now Celene was upset, which Nassella wasn’t sure she could handle. It meant conflict, and Nassella was not ready for more of that.

But hopefully it would keep Celene in line, if at least for a while longer. Orlais needed to heal, and if Celene could just stay focused on that for a little longer…

“Yes, let us hope that will be the case,” Josephine replied, deftly brushing aside any threat the empress may have implied.

“It was lovely to see you,” Celene said, her eyes slipping back to Nassella. She stood and inclined her head, her hands clasped in front of her body. “We should talk again ze next time you leave your mountain fortress.”

“I will,” Nassella said, quickly standing herself as Celene started to sweep past her. “Enjoy the rest of your day.” But the empress was already gone, and Nassella let out a deep sigh. “I don’t like these meetings Josephine,” Nassella said. “They never seem to go well.”

“You did wonderful,” Josephine said, standing and brushing her skirts flat. “Meetings with the empress always leave people off balance.”

“Do you think she’s trying to get rid of Gaspard?”

“Oh most certainly,” Josephine said. “And he is trying to do the same. But she is far too intelligent to try to do so quickly. It could be years before her plans come to fruition.”

“You think so?”

Josephine reached out and squeezed Nassella’s shoulder. “I do. And Divine Victoria is here now. She will help keep them all in line.”

It was somewhat comforting, Nassella decided. She just wished this didn’t have to be her problem at all.

They wandered through the garden, taking in more of the scenery. It really was a beautiful spring day, and Nassella found herself wishing for James. She wanted to enjoy the day with him, instead of thinking of him wandering through the Frostbacks. And even though she loved Josephine and needed her political advice, Nassella knew she’d be more confident with James at her side.

They met Gaspard at a different entrance to the garden. His arms were crossed and those around him were keeping a purposeful distance. Even with a mask covering his entire face, he did not look happy.

“Hello Gaspard,” she greeted, squaring her shoulders and standing a little taller. “How did you like the ceremony?”

“It is a farce,” he grumbled. “She is not even a member of ze Chantry, to become Divine…” He shook his head. “And to open up ze priesthood to all races… preposterous!”

“I didn’t realize you were such a traditional, devout Andrastian,” Josephine commented.

He snorted. “I couldn’t care less for tradition,” he said. “But zere should still be standards.”

Nassella resisted the urge to cross her own arms. “You don’t think an elf could be Divine? A dwarf?”

“I don’t care to find out,” he responded. Nassella couldn’t tell if he was being intentionally insulting, or if he just cared that little.

“It is a new era, Gaspard,” Josephine said, smoothing things over, as usual. “Things are not done as they once were.”

“Indeed,” he responded, and Nasseall swore his eyes shifted briefly over her. “Ze Inquisition made sure of zat.”

“We simply want stability,” Nassella said. “We hoped you wanted the same.”

He snorted again. “Of course I do.” There was no conviction in his voice.

“That’s so good to hear,” Nassella responded. “And how are things going with Celene and Briala?”

Gaspard shrugged. “Zey incite arguments all ze time and zerefore we get nearly nothing done. It is no wonder ze Inquisition has felt ze need to step into our country. Again.”

Nassella stared, her eyes starting to burn. “Are you suggesting the Inquisition is to blame for Orlais’ continuing crisis?”

“Of course not,” Gaspard dismissed. “But one less voice in ze room would certainly expedite the process of ruling.” He looked beyond them and made a step to leave. “If you will excuse me, I am a very busy man.”

He strode away and Nassella let out a small groan. “He’s not subtle.”

“No,” Josephine agreed. “Though his feelings aren’t a surprise.”

“I guess not, but I hoped he would play nice for a little while longer.”

“He will bide his time,” Josephine assured her. “He may be angry, but he was embarrassed as well. He will not rush into another attempt for the throne.”

“Great. So he’ll just be sneakier next time.”

Josephine smirked. “Exactly. But we are watching, and so are Celene and Briala. The advantage of having all three working together is they will keep each other in check.”

“Until they don’t anymore.”

“Yes, until they don’t.”

 

* * *

 

Dinner at the palace that night was a stressful affair of pleasantries and confusing cuisine. Nassella felt like she talked all night and yet said nothing. Everyone was quite scandalized by their new Divine, but also incredibly excited. Not everyone seemed to agree with what the Divine planned to do, but they were looking forward to seeing the drama that was sure to come.

There was also talk of the Inquisition’s aid sent to their countryside. Nassella smiled through the comments framed as appreciation, but thinly veiling disbelief, repeating again and again how she just wanted peace and prosperity for their countrymen.

The entire evening was uncomfortable. Josephine was sitting several seats away, and Nassella’s dress was constricting and far too fancy. Her face hurt from smiling and she hated that everyone was wearing masks so she couldn’t read their expressions. Again, she wanted James at her side. Even if nothing else changed, she could at least hold his hand under the table. Or squeeze his thigh.

Finally the meal ended. Nassella moved to escape, but was intercepted at the door when a woman with an incredibly ornate gown and mask stepped in front of her. She welcomed Nassella with a frail voice, and she sensed the woman was in her later years. “Inquisitor, may I have a moment?”

“Of course,” Nassella answered. “Madame…?”

“Duchess Nicole de Val Montaigne,” she said with a small curtsy. “I so hoped I would get ze chance to speak with you in person.”

The name seemed familiar, but Nassella couldn’t quite place it. “How may I help you, Duchess?”

“I hoped to speak with you about Judicael’s Crossing. I believe you have heard of it?”

“Ah, yes,” Nassella said, her smiled becoming strained as she remembered the woman and what she wanted. “It is quite tragic what has happened to it.”

“I knew Hedinelle must be mistaken when she said you refused to help in zis important matter,” the Duchess crooned.

“Oh, yes, of course. It is quite a worthy project.”

“Zen you will help?” the Duchess asked hopefully. “It would elevate ze Inquisition quite high to aid ze Société pour la Protection de L'architecture Historique.”

“I’m sure,” Nassella said. “Unfortunately, we are quite busy with our other efforts in Orlais. Perhaps we can revisit this matter after the summer…”

The Duchess sniffed, her demeanor changing immediately. “I see. Perhaps Hedinelle was not mistaken after all.”

Nassella’s heart pounded. She had tried to be more gracious. “I assure you I care for this issue,” she said.

“Of course,” said the Duchess, before inclining her head and walking away.

Nassella closed her eyes and took a deep breath. It was just a bridge. She didn’t have to get upset over a bridge, or because one woman _was_ upset about the bridge.

A hand gently touched her shoulder. “Inquisitor?” Josephine whispered.

“Can we go?” Nassella asked. “I’m done dealing with these people.”

“I’m afraid we have one more meeting,” Josephine gently reminded.                    

“Right,” Nassella mumbled. “Briala.” It had been the more difficult meeting to arrange. It was expected she would speak with Celene and Gaspard, but Briala was not supposed to have power in any capacity. Therefore, she should not be meeting with the Inquisitor.

The elven ambassador was in their carriage, and as they rolled away from the palace toward their townhouse, she smiled. “It is good to see you Inquisitor.”

“And you Ambassador. I hope you have been well.”

“I have, thank you. I see zat you have been busy zese last few weeks. It is good to see not all have forgotten about Orlais’ less fortunate.”

Nassella sighed. “Not everyone seems to appreciate that.”

Briala shrugged. “Celene and Gaspard are embarrassed zey didn’t think of aiding zeir own first. Ze commoners are looking to ze Inquisition and not zem. Zeir own fault of course.”

“That… is good to hear,” Nassella said, slumping back into her seat. Celene and Gaspard could gripe all they wanted, but in the end, it was important that people were actually being helped.

“Are they planning to send their own aid?” Josephine asked.

“Eventually,” Briala said. “Zough it will certainly be too little too late.”

“Couldn’t you encourage them to do more?” Nassella asked.

Briala smirked. “I will try.”

It was surprisingly noncommittal, and Nassella sat back up. She couldn’t relax around Briala, even if she felt more comfortable with her. The elf had her own agenda, and was a dangerous ally. “Do you feel safe in your new position?”

“As safe as I have ever felt in ze palace,” Briala answered.

Nassella nodded. “Well, if there is anything I can do to help, please ask.” She could be wary around Briala, but she still wanted her to succeed.

Briala’s fingers drummed across her knee, her eyes fixed on the closed curtains of the carriage. “I would have more influence with a proper title,” she eventually mused. “And I would have access to funds to more effectively play ze Game.”

Nassella glanced at Josephine. Her own ambassador nodded. “It certainly would, but an elf has never held a title in Orlais.”

“I believe zat could change,” Briala said. “Divine Victoria has opened ze Chantry to elves. I think zere is room to push for even more change.”

“How can we help?” Nassella asked. “I am happy to support you, but I can’t grant you a title.”

Briala looked to her. “You still control ze Dales, no?”

Nassella blinked. “You want the Dales?”

Briala nodded sharply. “It was taken from ze elves. It is time we take it back. Now is ze best time, while Orlais is weak and an elven Inquisitor holds zeir fate.”

Nassella glanced at Josephine. The other woman stared back, biting softly at her lip. “It would not be easy…”

“We’ll do it,” Nassella decided before Josephine could possibly talk her out of it. If she was going to meddle in Orlais, if she was going to make a difference, she might as well do something bold. She knew they had to leave the Dales eventually, and the idea of just handing the land back to those who had destroyed it made her balk. But here Briala was, offering her a solution. Mahanon’s accusations ran through her head, that she wasn’t doing enough for elves…

Well, she could change that.

“I’ll help you,” Nassella repeated. “Elves should have their home.”

Briala smiled, and bowed her head. “Excellent.”


End file.
